"I’d like to kiss you, for one thing; but I won’t. Don’t be provoking, naughty Angelica--I won’t make love to you!" His tone was light and careless, and the smile he gave her she neither understood nor liked. She was puzzled and hurt. What made him so different? What was the matter? "Suppose we walk?" he suggested. "This isn’t a very appetizing corner to stand on. How is your mother?" "Better," said Angelica in a surly tone. "And you?" "All right." "I don’t know who else there is in your household, but I hope they’re all quite well. Brothers and sisters----” "Don’t be silly!" she said roughly. "Angelica," he replied, "I’m not silly. I’m only trying to be decent. You’re very young, very inexperienced. It’s hard to talk to you. I hoped you’d understand without an explanation, but I don’t believe now that you can." She could have wept with chagrin and utter bewilderment. She saw that she was being very stupid, and that she was disappointing her idol in some way, but she couldn’t in the least comprehend how. "You see," he went on, with an air of extreme patience and gentleness, "all that--last night--it was very wrong. I blame myself severely. My ideas about such things aren’t the usual sort, by any means. I don’t parade it, but I’m a deeply religious man; and when I find myself giving way to temptation as I did last night, I’m ashamed." They went along in silence, down Seventh Avenue, to the entrance of the park at One Hundred and Tenth Street. They entered here, and proceeded, at the easy pace he had set, side by side, both looking ahead. All about them in the warm dark were lovers, sitting close together on the benches, walking hand in hand. There was a very atmosphere of love. And Angelica must go on beside this man, who didn’t even turn his head to look at her, who had nothing to say to her. He only quoted some poetry which she neither liked nor understood, for it had nothing to do with love; it was about the foreign people in the city and the hot weather. She tried to lean upon her pride. Very well, if _he_ didn’t mind wasting this precious and beautiful hour together, then neither would she; but she couldn’t restrain a hoarse little sob that flew suddenly into her throat. Vincent stopped. "Now, my dear child!" he remonstrated. "Don’t! You make it so hard for me. It’s not kind." She tried to stop weeping, but couldn’t at once. He laid a hand on her shoulder and gently patted her. "You mustn’t take it like this, my dear; or else I shan’t be strong enough. Do you know why I came to-night?" "I suppose--you wanted to see me." "No, I didn’t. It’s only pain for me to see you. I can’t have you. I mustn’t even think of you. I’ve got to give you up. I’ve got to stop loving you." "Can you?" she asked, with quivering lips.