"Miss Pendleton," he began, stiffly, "would you mind getting your hat and taking a little stroll with me? I have something to talk over with you, and I do not wish all those people on the porch, who are listening to us even now, to hear." "I would be delighted," answered Sally. "Come on. My hat is right out there on a chair on the veranda." He followed her in silence. It was not until they were some little distance from the hotel that he found voice to speak. "You say you want to talk to your betrothed," laughed the girl, with a toss of her yellow curls; "but you have maintained an unbroken silence for quite a time." "I have been wondering how to begin speaking of the subject which weighs so heavily on my mind, and I think the best way is to break right into it." "Yes," assented Sally; "so do I." "It is about our betrothal," he began, brusquely. "I want to ask you a plain, frank question, Miss Pendleton, and I hope you will be equally as frank with me; and that is, do you consider what you are pleased to call your betrothal to me, and which I considered at the time only a girlish prank, actually binding?" He stopped short in the wooded path they were treading, and looked her gravely in the face--a look that forced an answer. She was equal to the occasion. "Of course I do, Mr. Gardiner," she cried, with a jolly little laugh that sounded horrible in his ears. "And wasn't it romantic? Just like one of those stories one reads in those splendid French novels, I laughed----" "Pray be serious, Miss Pendleton," cut in Gardiner, biting his lip fiercely to keep back an angry retort. "This is not a subject for merriment, I assure you, and I had hoped to have a sensible conversation with you concerning it--to show each of us a way out of it, if that is possible." "I do not wish to be set free, as you phrase it, Mr. Gardiner," she answered, defiantly. "I am perfectly well pleased to have matters just as they are, I assure you." His face paled; the one hope which had buoyed him up died suddenly in his heart. Sally Pendleton's face flushed hotly; her eyes fell. "I will try to win your liking," she replied. "It is a man's place to win," he said, proudly; "women should be won," he added, with much emphasis. "When two people marry without love, they must run all the risk such a union usually incurs." "Pardon me, but I may as well speak the truth; you are the last girl on earth whom I could love. It grieves me to wound you, but it is only just that you should know the truth. _Now_ will you insist upon carrying out the contract?" "As I have told you from the start, my answer will always be the same." "We will walk back to the hotel," he said, stiffly. She rose from the mossy log and accompanied him without another word. At last he broke the silence. "I am a gentleman," he said, "and am in honor bound to carry out this contract, if you can not be induced to release me." "That is the only sensible view for you to take," she said.