Her head was bent, her fair face was in shadow. She strayed on a little way, then, finding herself alone, turned and looked back at him where he stood. For a moment they remained motionless, looking at one another, then, as on some sweet impulse, she came back hastily and looked into his eyes. "I do not feel as you do," she said; "you are very--good--company. I am not all you say; I know very little. Listen. It--it distresses me to have you think I hold you--lightly. Truly we are _not_ apart." "There is but one thing that can join us." "What is that?" "Love." Her pure gaze did not falter nor her eyes droop. Curiously regarding him, she seemed immersed in the solution of the problem as he had solved it. "Do you love me?" she asked. "With all my soul--such as it is, with all my heart, with every thought, every instinct, every breath I draw." She considered him with fearless eyes; the beauty of them was all he could endure. "You love me?" she repeated. He bent his head, incapable of speech. "You wish me to love you?" He looked at her, utterly unable to move his lips. "_How_ do you wish me to love you?" He opened his arms; she stepped forward, close to him. Then their lips met. "Oh," she said faintly, "I did not know it--it was so sweet." And as her head fell back on his arm about her neck she looked up at him full of wonder at this new knowledge he had taught her, marvelous, unsuspected, divine in its simplicity. Then the first delicate blush that ever mounted her face spread, tinting throat and forehead; she drew his face down to her own. The poet paced the dim veranda, arms folded, head bent. But his glance was sideways and full of intelligence as it included two vague figures coming slowly back through the moon-drenched meadow. "By elimination we arrive at perfection," he mused; "and perfection is success. There remain six more," he added irrelevantly, "but they're young yet. Patience, subtle patience--and attention to the little things." He pinched a morsel of air out of the darkness, examined it and released it. "The little things," he repeated; "that is a very precious thought.... I believe the sea air may agree with me--now and then." And he wandered off into his "den" and unlocked a drawer in his desk, and took out a bundle of legal papers, and tore them slowly, carefully, into very small pieces. V [Illustration]