"But you know." "Yes." "Why can't you tell me then?" "Because it is not best." Clemency shrugged her shoulders. "Why did he hunt me so?" "I can't tell you, dear." "But you know." "I am not sure." "But you think you know." "Yes." "Then tell me." "I can't, dear." "When will you tell me?" "Never!" Clemency looked at him, and again she blushed. "You will tell me after--we are--married. You will have to tell me everything then," she whispered. James shook his head. "Won't you then?" "No, dear, I shall never tell you while I live." Clemency made a sudden grasp at the reins. "Then I will never marry you," she said. "I will never marry you, if you keep things from me." "I will never keep things from you that you ought to know, dear." "I ought to know this!" James remained silent. Clemency had brought the horse to a full stop. "Won't you ever tell me?" she asked. "No, never! dear." "Then let me get out. This is Annie Lipton's street. I am going to see her. I have not seen her for a long time. I will walk home. It is safe enough now. You can tell me that much?" "Yes, it is, but Clemency, dear." "I am not Clemency, dear. I am not going to marry you. You say you wrote your father and mother last night that we were going to get married. Well, you can just write again and tell them we are not. No, you need not try to stop me. I will get out. Good-by! I shall not be home to luncheon. I shall stay with Annie. I like her very much better than I like you." With that Clemency had slipped out of the buggy and hurried up a street without looking back. James drove on. He felt disturbed, but not seriously so. It was impossible to take Clemency's anger as a real thing. It was so whimsical and childish. He had counted upon his long morning with her, but he went on with a little smile on his face. He was half inclined to think, so slightly did he estimate Clemency's anger, that she would not keep her word, and would be home for luncheon. But when he returned she was not there, and she had not come when the bell rang. "Why, where is Clemency?" Gordon said, when they entered the dining-room. "She insisted upon stopping to see her friend Miss Lipton," said James. "She said that she might not be home to lunch." Emma gave one of her sharp, baffled glances at him, then, having served the two men, she tossed her head and went out. Nobody knew how much she wished to listen at the kitchen door, but she was above such a course. "Clemency and I had a bit of a tiff," James explained to Gordon. "She seemed vexed because I would not tell her what you told me last night. She is curious to know more about--that man."