There he found Scudamore pacing up and down in fierce, gloomy silence.

"You are taking her home, Larry?" he said.

"Who?" said Larry. Then glancing at his face, he added, "Yes, Scuddy, I am taking Helen home. She is apparently in a great hurry."

"She need not be; I shall not bother her any more," said Scuddy bitterly, "and you can tell her that for me, if you like."

"No, I won't tell her that, Scuddy," said Larry, "and, Scuddy," he added, imparting a bit of worldly wisdom, "campaigns are not won in a single battle, and, Scuddy, remember too that the whistling fisherman catches the fish. So cheer up, old boy." But Scuddy only glowered at him.

Larry found Helen awaiting him, and quietly they slipped out together.

"This is splendid of you, Larry," she said, taking his arm and giving him a little squeeze.

"I don't know about that, Helen. I left Scuddy raging upstairs there.

You girls are the very devil for cruelty sometimes. You get men serious with you, then you flirt and flutter about till the unhappy wretches don't know where they are at. Here's our car."

"Car!" exclaimed Helen. "With this moonlight, Larry? And you going away to-morrow? Not if I know it."

"It is fearfully unromantic, Helen, I know. But I must hurry. I have to take Jane home."

"Oh, Jane! It's always Jane, Jane!"

"Well, why not?" said Larry. "For years Jane has been my greatest pal, my best friend."

"Nothing more?" said Helen earnestly. "Cross your heart, Larry."

"Nothing more, cross my heart and all the rest of it," replied Larry.

"Why! here's another car, Helen."

"Oh, Larry, you are horrid, perfectly heartless! We may never walk together again. Here I am throwing myself at you and you only think of getting away back." Under her chaffing words there sounded a deeper note.

"So I see," said Larry, laughing and refusing to hear the deeper undertone. "But I see something else as well."

"What?" challenged Helen.

"I see Scuddy leading out from Trinity some day the loveliest girl in Winnipeg."

"Oh, I won't talk about Scuddy," said Helen impatiently. "I want to talk about you. Tell me about this Chicago business."

For the rest of the way home she led Larry to talk of his plans for the future. At her door Helen held out her hand. "You won't come in, Larry, I know, so we will say good-bye here." Her voice was gentle and earnest.

The gay, proud, saucy air which she had ever worn and which had been one of her chief charms, was gone. The moonlight revealed a lovely wistful face from which misty eyes looked into his. "This is the end of our good times together, Larry. And we have had good times. You are going to be a great man some day. I wish you all the best in life."

"Thank you, Helen," said Larry, touched by the tones of her voice and the look in her eyes. "We have been good friends. We shall never be anything else. With my heart I wish you--oh, just everything that is good, Helen dear. Good-bye," he said, leaning toward her. "How lovely you are!" he murmured.

"Good-bye, dear Larry," she whispered, lifting up her face.

"Good-bye, you dear girl," he said, and kissed her.

"Now go," she said, pushing him away from her.

"Be good to Scuddy," he replied as he turned from her and hurried away.

He broke into a run, fearing to be late, and by the time he arrived at the Allens' door he had forgotten all about Helen Brookes and was thinking only of Jane and of what he wanted to say to her. At the inner door he met Macleod and Ethel coming out.

"Jane's gone," said Ethel, "some time ago."

"Gone?" said Larry.

"Yes, Scuddy took her home."

"Are they all gone?" inquired Larry.

"Yes, for the most part."

"Oh, all right then; I think I shall not go in. Good-night," he said, turned abruptly about and set off for Dr. Brown's. He looked again at his watch. He was surprised to find it was not so very late. Why had Jane not waited for him? Had he hurt her again? He was sorely disappointed. Surely she had no reason to be offended, and this was his last night. As he thought the matter over he came to the conclusion that now it was he that had a grievance. Arrived at Dr. Brown's house the only light to be seen was in Jane's room upstairs. Should he go in or should he go home and wait till to-morrow. He was too miserable to think of going home without seeing her. He determined that he must see her at all cost to-night. He took a pebble and flung it up against her window, and another and another. The window opened and Jane appeared.

"Oh, Larry," she whispered. "Is it you? Wait, I shall be down."

She opened the door for him and stood waiting for him to speak. "Why didn't you wait?" he asked, pa.s.sing into the hall. "I was not very long."

"Why should I wait, Larry?" she said quietly. "Scuddy told me you had gone home with Helen."

"But didn't I promise that I would take you home?"

"You did, and then went away."

"Well, all I have to say, Jane, is that this is not a bit like you. I am sorry I brought you down, and I won't keep you any longer. Good-night. I shall see you tomorrow."

But Jane got between him and the door and stood with her back to it.

"No, Larry, you are not going away like that. Go into the study."

Larry looked at her in astonishment. This was indeed a new Jane to him.

Wrathful, imperious, she stood waving him toward the study door. In spite of his irritation he was conscious of a new admiration for her.

Feeling a little like a boy about to receive his punishment, he pa.s.sed into the study.

"Didn't Mrs. Allen give you my message?" he said.

"Your message, Larry?" cried Jane, a light breaking upon her face. "Did you leave a message for me?"

"I did. I told Mrs. Allen to tell you where I had gone--Helen was so anxious to go--and that I would be right back." Larry's voice was full of reproach.

"Oh, Larry, I am so glad," said Jane, her tone indicating the greatness of her relief. "I knew it was all right--that something had prevented. I am so glad you came in. You must have thought me queer."

"No," said Larry, appeased, "I knew all the time there must be some explanation, only I was feeling so miserable."

"And I was miserable, too, Larry," she said gently. "It seemed a pity that this should happen on our last night." All her wrath was gone.

She was once more the Jane that Larry had always known, gentle, sweet, straightforward, and on her face the old transfiguring smile. Before this change of mood all his irritation vanished. Humbled, penitent, and with a rush of warm affection filling his heart, he said,

"I should have known you were not to blame, but you are always right.

Never once in all these years have you failed me. You always understand a fellow. Do you know I am wondering how I shall ever do without you?