"I think I must have heard it at church," she replied. "It's been running in my head all the morning." (He now remembered with sudden pity that no memories of sacred words and song could follow her from her home and childhood.) "But I suppose you think it is strange I can sing at all, Mr. Van Berg," she continued gravely. "You must think me very superficial that I do not appear to realize more a crime that makes it exceedingly kind of you even to speak to me, since you know about it. But I have realized the wickedness of that act more bitterly than you can ever know." "Miss Mayhew, I admit that I can't understand you at all. You have become a greater mystery to me than ever. You see, I imitate your truthfulness." "There is no necessity of solving the problem," she said in a low tone, and averting her face. "Do you mean," he asked, flushing slightly, "that my interest is obtrusive and not agreeable to you?" "If inspired by curiosity--yes," and she looked him steadily in the face. "But if inspired by a genuine and earnest wish to be your friend and to atone for the unpardonable injustice which came about from my not understanding you?" "If I believed that," she said, with something like a smile, "I'd take you with me this morning and reveal all the mystery there is about my poor little self in one brief hour." "How can I prove it?" he asked eagerly. "Say it," she answered simply. "I do say it's true, on my honor," he replied, giving her his hand. "You may come, then, on one other condition. I would like you to draw for me a young pear-tree, and an old gentleman sitting under it." "I will agree to any conditions," he said, springing in by her side. "Is it the tree that bore the pear you gave me? I hope you don't think I was capable of eating that pear." "Did you throw it away?" she asked, with a shy glance. "Miss Mayhew, I've something I wish you to see," and he took out his note-book and showed her the rose-bud he had tossed away. "Do you recognize that?" In spite of herself the blood rushed tumultuously into her face. "I thought that was trampled into dust long ago," she said in a low tone. "I shall never forget your words as you left me that evening, Miss Mayhew. It was the severest and most deserved rebuke I ever had. I picked up the bud immediately, I assure you." "I thought you left it there," she said, in a still lower tone, and then added hastily: "But I have no doubt you acted from a sense of duty." "I can't say that I did," he answered, dryly. "Will you please give it to me?" "Not unless you compel me to," and he closed the book and returned it to an inside breast-pocket. "I would like to carry it as a talisman against Phariseeism, the most hateful of vices." "Oh, very well," and she turned away her face again. "But please tell me about this pear-tree," he resumed.