She laughed softly. "That is very human, isn't it? I was thinking precisely the same thing of you. Tell me why you would like to abolish the to-morrows--or is it only the very next one that ever will be that you want to escape?" "It's all of them, I think: but you mustn't ask me to tell you why." "Why mustn't I?" "Because I can't do it and keep my promise to tell you the truth." "That is frank, at least," she retorted. "I hope you are not a conscience-stricken train-robber, or a murderer, or anything of that kind." "Hardly," Brockway replied, helping himself to another sandwich; "but you would be quite horrified if I should tell you what I have really done." "Do you think so? You might try me and see," she said, half pleading and half jesting. Brockway thought about it for a moment. "I'll do it--on one condition." "You ought to be ashamed to propose conditions to me. What is it?" "That you will tell me quite as truthfully why you agreed with me about the abolition of the to-morrows." It was Gertrude's turn to consider, but she ended by accepting the proviso. "After you," she said, with a constrained little laugh. "But who would ever think of exchanging confidences at this altitude over a stolen luncheon!" "Not many, perhaps; but it's quite in keeping with our compact; we were not to do ordinary things, you know. And I'm sure this confession I am going to make is unpremeditated." "Is it so very dreadful?" "It is, I assure you, though I can make it in five words. I am hopelessly in love--don't laugh, please; there isn't the slightest element of levity in it for me." Nevertheless, she did laugh, albeit there was pain at the catching of her breath. "Forgive me," she said, quickly. "I don't mean to be silly if I can help it. Tell me about it, and why it is hopeless." "It's the old story of Jack and his master," Brockway continued. "I have had the audacity to fall in love with the daughter of one of my betters." "One of your betters? I'm afraid I can't quite understand that. Don't we live in a golden age when Jack is as good as his master, if he choose to make himself so?" "By no manner of means," asserted this modern disciple of feudalism; "the line is drawn just as sharply now as it was when Jack was a bond thrall and his master was a swashbuckling baron." "Who draws it? the thrall or the baron?" The question opened up a new view of the matter, and Brockway took time to think about it. "I'm not sure as to that," he said, doubtfully. "I've always taken it for granted it was the baron; but perhaps it's both of them." "You may be very sure there are two sides to that shield, as to all others," she asserted. "But tell me more about your own trouble. Is it altogether impossible? Does the--the young woman think as you do?" "It is; and I don't know what she thinks. I've never asked her, you know."