They seated themselves on the bench with its many carvings of initials and fraternity symbols. She took advantage of his gaze out over the lake to look at him; but her eyes were inscrutable. He was a big, powerful-looking man—built on the large plan, within as well as without, if the bold brow and eyes and the strong mouth, unconcealed by his close-cropped fair mustache, did not mislead. At first glance he seemed about thirty; but there were in his features lines of experience, of firmness, of formed character, of achievement, that could not have come with many less than forty years. He looked significant, successful, the man who is much and shall be more. He was dressed more fashionably than would be regarded as becoming in a man of affairs, except in two or three of our largest cities. In contrast with his vivid, aggressive personality—or, was it simply because of shy, supersensitive shrinking in his presence?—the young woman now seemed colorless and even bleak. After a silence which she was unable or unwilling to break, he said, "This is very mysterious, Neva—this sending for me to meet you—secretly." "I was afraid it might not be pleasant for you—at the house," replied she hesitatingly. His air of surprise was not quite sincere. "Why not?" he inquired. "There isn’t anyone I esteem more highly than your father, and he likes me. If he didn’t he would not have done all the things that put me under such a heavy debt of gratitude to him." His tone suggested that he had to remind himself of the debt often lest he should be guilty of the baseness of forgetting it. "It was eighteen months yesterday," said she, "since you were—at the house." He frowned at what he evidently regarded as a disagreeable and therefore tactless reminder. "Really? Time races for those who have something to do besides watch the clock." Then, ashamed of his irritation, "I suppose it’s impossible, in an uneventful place like this, to appreciate how the current of a city like Chicago sweeps a man along and won’t release him. There’s so much to think about, one has no time for anything." "Except the things that are important to one," replied she. "Don’t misunderstand, please. I’m only stating a fact—not reproaching you—not at all." "So, your father has turned against me." "He has said nothing. But his expression, when I happened to speak of you the other day, told me it would be better for you not to come to the house—at least, until we had had a talk." "Well, Neva, I don’t feel I have any reason to reproach myself. I’m not the sort of man who stands about on the tail of his wife’s dress or sits round the house in slippers. I’m trying to make a career, and that means work." "Chicago is only six hours from Battle Field," she said with curiously quiet persistence. "When I got the position in Chicago," he reminded her with some asperity, "I asked you to go with me. You refused." "Did you wish me to go?" "Did you wish to go?" She was silent.