Mark, always tall, was broad as well now, an imposing big fellow, prosperous, shrewd, and self-confident.  He had handsome dark eyes, and showed white teeth when he laughed; he dressed well, but not conspicuously; his shoes might be well worn, but they were always bright; and if his suit were shabby, still he was never without gloves.  He liked to talk business; he had long ago given up his music and devoted himself with marvellous success to his work.  He was no longer with the piano house, but had an excellent position as adjuster of damages, out of court, for one of the street railway companies.  The history of his various promotions and his favour with his employers was absorbing to him; but the time came, when Julia was about twenty-two, when his determination to win her became a serious menace to her peace.

His manner, which had once been boyish and uncertain, was in these days good-humouredly proprietary.  He laughed at little Julia’s earnest explanations, and would answer her most eager appeal only with a lover’s fond comment upon her eyes.

“Yes, darling, I wasn’t listening—­forgive me!” he said one day, when, with a spark of real anger, Julia had begged him to make his calls at the settlement house a little less frequent and less conspicuous.  “What was it?” And with twinkling eyes he caught up the hand that lay near him on the table and kissed it.

“I want you not to do that, Mark,” said Julia gravely, moving a little farther away, “and please don’t call me darling!”

“All right, darling!” smiled Mark.

“I’m not joking,” Julia said resentfully, two red spots in her cheeks.

Mark moved to lay his hand over hers penitently, and said, in the low, gentle voice Julia dreaded: 

“Do you know what’s the matter with you, Julie?  I’ll tell you.  You love me and you won’t admit it.  Girls never will.  But that’s what makes you so unhappy—­you won’t let yourself go.  Ah, Julia! be fair to yourself, darling!  Tell me that you care for me.  I’ve waited seven years for you, dear—­”

“Oh, you have not!” Julia said impatiently.

“I’d like to know why I haven’t!” Mark said challengingly.  “Ah, but you know I have, darling.  And I want my wife.”  It was a Saturday afternoon, and Miss Toland was dozing in her own room.  Julia and Mark were alone in the deserted assembly hall.  Suddenly he slipped on his knees beside her, and locked one arm about her waist.  “You will, won’t you, Julia?” he stammered.

Julia, scarlet cheeked, tried to rise, and held him off with her hands.

“Oh, please, please,” she begged.  “I can’t, Mark.  You are awfully good to me—­I’m not worth it, and all that—­but I can’t.  I—­it’s not my fault I don’t want to, is it?  It would be wrong to do it, feeling this way—­”

She was on her feet now, and Mark stood up, too.  Both were breathing hard; they looked at each other through a widening silence.  Flies buzzed against the closed windows, a gust of summer wind swept along the street outside.  Suddenly Mark caught Julia fiercely in his arms, and felt her heart beating madly against him, and forcing up her chin with a gentle big hand, kissed her again and again upon her unresponsive lips.