"Tom!" she cried. "I'm so, so glad to see you again. It's been terribly lonely. As fast as I'd begin to learn one language, they'd move me somewhere else and I'd have to start all over again! And now I hardly know whether or not I know any language at all! ... Where's Jack? I expected that, of course, he would come with you." "He'll be here bye-and-bye, Kate...." Blake replied. She seated herself, crossing one knee above the over, interlocking about it slender, white fingers. "You must have so much to tell me, Tom!" she bubbled, all animation, gladness, eagerness. "Begin! Please, begin! And then I'll tell you everything. Oh, isn't it exciting to go away and come back again!" "I have a lot to tell you," he said, slowly. "Why, you speak so seriously, Tom. Aren't you glad to see me?" "I'm afraid nobody but myself knows how glad.... Kate, I hardly know how to begin what I want to say. I--it's hard; not having seen you so long, makes it harder. I--" She cried, in pretty amazement: "But what in the world is it? Tom! You almost frighten me! I haven't done anything wrong, have I? Shall I be put to bed without my supper? ... Do speak, Tom. Tell me what all this mystery is." Still slowly, hands folding and unfolding, dark eyes upon hers of violet, he continued: "Kate, Jack Schuyler loves you; and I lo--" He had intended to say more; and what that more was one would but have had to look into his eyes to tell; but he had been looking into hers; he had seen the gleam that had leaped there at his words; and that is why he did not finish. "Tom!" she exclaimed, softly.... And then, "Did Jack tell you that-- himself?" He nodded. "He was afraid to tell me himself?" Again he nodded. It was not so. But he lied; as would you, or I, had we been as good a man as he. He had come there knowing that a woman loves but one man. He had come there knowing that, if Schuyler were not the man she loved, thereby he would be saved, and she would be saved, much unpleasantness. He had hoped that it was he himself that she loved. Yet he had feared that it was not. And he had known that whether it were he who asked, or Schuyler, or any man, it would make no difference; for when a woman like that loves a man, it is that man alone she loves; and the rest means nothing. No thought of an unfair advantage was in his mind. In such a case there could be no such thing as that. It was only whether or not she loved one of them, and if so, which one; and beyond that there was nothing--nothing except that he wished to take from Schuyler any unhappiness that might lie there for him. For he was a friend such as few men may ever have and, having, may pray to keep. And now he knew the answer. It was in the depths of the violet eyes--in the eagerness of lips and lithe, supple body--it was of her--about her. Blake's lips became thin; his jaws set; his eyes half shut. To have lost a father, and a mother, and such a girl as was she, and all within an eighteen month, was bitter, indeed.