There was something boyish in his triumph, in the very gesture with which he held out his arms, like a child who has escaped a whipping. He stood up and, catching her hands, drew her to her feet. “You love me, dear.” “I'm afraid I do, Max.” “Then I'm yours, and only yours, if you want me,” he said, and took her in his arms. He was riotously happy, must hold her off for the joy of drawing her to him again, must pull off her gloves and kiss her soft bare palms. “I love you, love you!” he cried, and bent down to bury his face in the warm hollow of her neck. Sidney glowed under his caresses--was rather startled at his passion, a little ashamed. “Tell me you love me a little bit. Say it.” “I love you,” said Sidney, and flushed scarlet. But even in his arms, with the warm sunlight on his radiant face, with his lips to her ear, whispering the divine absurdities of passion, in the back of her obstinate little head was the thought that, while she had given him her first embrace, he had held other women in his arms. It made her passive, prevented her complete surrender. And after a time he resented it. “You are only letting me love you,” he complained. “I don't believe you care, after all.” He freed her, took a step back from her. “I am afraid I am jealous,” she said simply. “I keep thinking of--of Carlotta.” “Will it help any if I swear that that is off absolutely?” “Don't be absurd. It is enough to have you say so.” But he insisted on swearing, standing with one hand upraised, his eyes on her. The Sunday landscape was very still, save for the hum of busy insect life. A mile or so away, at the foot of two hills, lay a white farmhouse with its barn and outbuildings. In a small room in the barn a woman sat; and because it was Sunday, and she could not sew, she read her Bible. “--and that after this there will be only one woman for me,” finished Max, and dropped his hand. He bent over and kissed Sidney on the lips. At the white farmhouse, a little man stood in the doorway and surveyed the road with eyes shaded by a shirt-sleeved arm. Behind him, in a darkened room, a barkeeper was wiping the bar with a clean cloth. “I guess I'll go and get my coat on, Bill,” said the little man heavily. “They're starting to come now. I see a machine about a mile down the road.” Sidney broke the news of her engagement to K. herself, the evening of the same day. The little house was quiet when she got out of the car at the door. Harriet was asleep on the couch at the foot of her bed, and Christine's rooms were empty. She found Katie on the back porch, mountains of Sunday newspapers piled around her. “I'd about give you up,” said Katie. “I was thinking, rather than see your ice-cream that's left from dinner melt and go to waste, I'd take it around to the Rosenfelds.” “Please take it to them. I'd really rather they had it.” She stood in front of Katie, drawing off her gloves. “Aunt Harriet's asleep. Is--is Mr. Le Moyne around?”