Roberts looked at her oddly. "Is that what you want to do--you?" he asked bluntly.

"Want to do?" Again the laugh. "What does it matter what I want to do?"

She caught herself suddenly. "Margery and I may go away to a lake somewhere during that week," she completed.

"And after that?" suggested the man.

"The university will be open then. I've secured a place this year,--a.s.sistant in English."

"You're really serious, Elice?" soberly. "This is news to me, you know.

You really purpose teaching in future?"

"Yes." She returned her companion's look steadily. "Father was not reappointed for the coming session. He's over the age line. I supposed you knew."

"No; I didn't know before." Without apparent reason Roberts stood up. The great hands were working again. A moment he stood there so, the big bushy head outlined distinctly against the starlit sky; with equal abruptness he returned to his seat.

"What a farce this is you and I are playing," he said. "Do you really wish it to go on longer?"

The girl did not look at him, did not move.

"Farce?" she echoed.

The man gestured swiftly.

"Don't do that, please," he prevented. "You and I know each other entirely too well to pretend. I repeat, do you wish this travesty to go on indefinitely? If you do I accept, of course--but--do you?"

Instinctively, as on a former occasion, the girl drew her chair farther back on the porch, until her face was in the shadow. It was out of the shadow that she spoke.

"Prefer it to go on? Yes," she said; "because I wish you to remain as you are now. But really wish it, no; because it's unfair, wholly unfair."

"Unfair to me?"

"Yes, to you."

For the second time Roberts gestured. "Take that consideration out of the discussion absolutely, please," he said. "With that understanding do you still wish this pretence to go on?"

"I wish to keep your friendship."

"My friendship--nothing more? I'm brutally blunt, I realize; but I can't let to-night, this last night, go by without knowing something of how you feel. You never have given me even so much as a hint, you know. I've waited patiently, I think, for you to select the moment for confidence; but you avoid it always; and to-morrow at this time--You know I love you, Elice. Knowing that, do you still wish me to go away pretending merely polite friendship? Do you wish it to be that way, Elice?"

The girl ignored the question, ignored all except the dominant statement.

"Yes, I know you love me," she echoed. "You told me so once before."

"Once! A thousand times; you understood the language. It seems foolish even to reiterate the fact now. And yet you've never answered."

"I know. I said it was unfair; and still--"

"You won't answer even yet."

"I can't. I'm drifting and waiting for light. Don't misunderstand; that isn't religion--I've not been to church in a year, or said a prayer. It isn't that at all. I simply don't want to hate myself, or be hated by another justly later."

"And you expect to drift on until that light comes?"

A halt, long enough for second thought or renewal of a decision. "I can't do otherwise. There's no other way. It's inevitable."

"'Inevitable!'" Roberts shrugged impatiently. "I don't like the word. It belongs in the same cla.s.s with 'chance' and 'predestination' and 'luck.'

There are few things inevitable except death."

"This is one--that I must wait."

"And you can't even take me into your confidence, about the reason why?

Mind, I don't ask it unless you voluntarily desire. I merely suggest."

"No," steadily; "I can't tell you the reason. I've got to decide for myself--when light comes."

Roberts' great shoulders squared significantly.

"But if I know it already," he suggested evenly, "what then?"

No answer, although the other waited half a minute.

"I repeat: what if I know it already?"

"Do you know?"

Roberts' glance wandered into the shadow where the girl was, then returned slowly to the street and the red car.

"I rode East with Steve Armstrong," he said, "as far as he went. I also wired him when I was coming, and we returned together. He told me, I think, everything--except about your father. He forgot that, if he knew.

Do you doubt I know the reason, Elice?"

Out of the shadow came the girl's face,--the face only.

"You did this for Stephen Armstrong--after what is past! Why?"

"Because life is short and I wanted to know several things before I came to-night. Would you like to hear what it was I wished to learn?"

Again the face vanished.

"Yes," said a voice.

"You know already, so it won't be news. One was that he still cares for you--as always. He perjured himself once, because he thought it was his duty; but he has never ceased to care. The other thing was that he's changed his mind and is going back to his literary work. His novel, that was accepted tentatively, will be published next Winter. What else I learned is immaterial. I don't often venture a prediction, but in his case I'll make the exception. I believe that this time he'll make good.

He has the incentive--and experience. Do you still doubt I know the reason, Elice?"

"No. But that you should tell me this!"

"I claim no virtue. You knew it already. I'm merely attempting to simplify--to aid the coming of the light."

For the second time out of the shadow came the girl's face, her whole figure. "Darley Roberts," asked a voice, "are you human, or aren't you? I don't believe another man in the world would, under like circ.u.mstances, do as you have done by Steve Armstrong. I can't believe you human merely."