He stretched his hand toward her, only to let it fall again as the first fierce joy gave place to doubt and discretion. He strove to think, but his heart was leaping and his thoughts were in wild disorder. He wanted to fall on his knees beside her, to take her in his arms, to make her look at him again with those soft, deep, confessing eyes. He wanted to whisper a thousand endearments to her, to sigh “Holly, Holly,” and “Holly” again, a thousand times. But the moments ticked past, and he only sat and held himself to his chair and was triumphantly happy and utterly miserable in all his being. Presently Holly looked up at him again, a little anxiously and very tenderly. “Are you sorry for me!” she asked, softly. “For you and for myself, dear,” he answered, “unless――――” “Will it be very hard?” she asked. “Would it have been easier if I hadn’t――hadn’t――――” “No, a thousand times no, Holly! But, dear, I never guessed――――” Holly shook her head, and laughed very softly. “I didn’t mean you to know, I reckon; but somehow it just――just came out. I couldn’t help it. I reckon I ought to have helped it, but you see I’ve never――cared for anyone before, and I don’t know how to act properly. Do you think I am awfully――awfully――you know; do you?” “I think you’re the best, the dearest――――” He stopped, with something that was almost a sob. “I can’t tell you what I think you are, Holly; I haven’t the words, dear.” “I don’t suppose you ought to, anyhow,” said Holly, thoughtfully. “Holly, have I――have I been to blame?” “No,” she answered quickly. “It was just――just me, I reckon. I prayed God that He wouldn’t let me love you, but I reckon He has to look after so many girls that――that care for the wrong people that He didn’t have time to bother with Holly Wayne. Anyhow, it didn’t seem to do much good. Maybe, though, He wanted me to love you――in spite of――of everything. Do you reckon He did?” “Yes,” said Winthrop, fiercely, “I reckon He did. And He’s got to take the consequences! Holly, I’m not fit for you; I’m twenty years older than you are; I’ve been married and I’ve had the bloom brushed off of life, dear; but if you’ll take me, Holly, if you’ll take me, dear――――” “Oh!” Holly arose to her feet and held a hand toward him appealingly. “Please don’t! Please!” she cried. “Don’t spoil it all!” “Spoil it?” he asked, wonderingly. He got slowly to his feet and moved toward her. “You know what I mean,” said Holly, troubledly. “I do love you, and you love me――――you do love me, don’t you?” “Yes,” he answered, simply. “And we can’t be happy――that way. But we can care for each other――always――a great deal, and not make it hard to――to――――” She faltered, the tears creeping one by one over her lids. A light broke upon Winthrop. “But you don’t understand!” he cried. “What?” she faltered, looking up at him anxiously, half fearfully, from swimming eyes as he took her hand. “Dear, there’s no wrong if I――――”