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her profile was turned toward him. Looking away toward the



paddock that lay brilliant in sunshine on the skirts of the apple

orchard, she asked, in low, slow tones, twisting her hands in her



lap:

"Don't you think that perhaps, if B found out afterward--



when she had married A, you know--that she had cared for him so

very, very much, he might be a little sorry?"



"If he were a gentleman, he would regret it deeply."

"I mean--sorry on his own account; that--that he had thrown away



all that, you know?"

The professor looked meditative.



"I think," he pronounced, "that it is very possible he would. I

can well imagine it."



"He might never find anybody to love him like that again," she

said, gazing on the gleaming paddock.



"He probably would not," agreed the philosopher.

"And--and most people like being loved, don't they?"



"To crave for love is an almost universalinstinct, Miss May."

"Yes, almost," she said, with a dreary little smile. "You see,



he'll get old and--and have no one to look after him."

"He will."



"And no home."

"Well, in a sense none," corrected the philosopher, smiling.



"But really, you'll frighten me. I'm a bachelor myself, you

know, Miss May."



"Yes," she whispered just audibly.

"And all your terrors are before me."



"Well, unless----"

"Oh, we needn't have that `unless,'" laughed the philosopher



cheerfully. "There's no `unless' about it, Miss May."

The girl jumped to her feet; for an instant she looked at the



philosopher. She opened her lips as if to speak, and, at the

thought of what lay at her tongue's tip, her face grew red. But



the philosopher was gazing past her, and his eyes rested in calm

contemplation on the gleaming paddock.



"A beautiful thing, sunshine, to be sure," said he.

Her blush faded away into paleness; her lips closed. Without



speaking she turned and walked slowly away, her head drooping.

The philosopher heard the rustle of her skirt in the long grass



of the orchard; he watched her for a few moments.

"A pretty, graceful creature," said he, with a smile. Then he



opened his book, took his pencil in his hand, and slipped in a

careful forefinger to mark the fly leaf.



The sun had passed mid-heaven, and began to decline westward

before he finished the book. Then he stretched himself and



looked at his watch.

"Good gracious, two o'clock! I shall be late for lunch!" and he



hurried to his feet.

He was very late for lunch.



"Everything's cold," wailed his hostess. "Where have you been,

Mr. Jerningham?"



"Only in the orchard--reading."

"And you've missed May!"



"Missed Miss May? How do you mean? I had a long talk with her

this morning--a most interesting talk."



"But you weren't here to say goodby. Now, you don't mean to say

that you forgot that she was leaving by the two o'clock



train? What a man you are!"

"Dear me! To think of my forgetting it!" said the philosopher



shamefacedly.

"She told me to say good-by to you for her."



"She's very kind. I can't forgive myself."

His hostess looked at him for a moment; then she sighed, and



smiled, and sighed again.

"Have you everything you want?" she asked.



"Everything, thank you," said he, sitting down opposite the

cheese, and propping his book (he thought he would just run



through the last chapter again) against the loaf; "everything in

the world that I want, thanks."



His hostess did not tell him that the girl had come in from the

apple orchard, and run hastilyupstairs lest her friend should



see what her friend did see in her eyes. So that he had no

suspicion at all that he had received an offer of marriage--and



refused it. And he did not refer to anything of that sort

when he paused once in his reading and exclaimed:



"I'm really sorry I missed Miss May. That was an interesting




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