"Never mind," said Druce tenderly, drawing her toward him and caressing her. "We had some ride, didn't we?" "Grand," replied Elsie, brightened by the recollection. "I told you it would be all right if I hired the car and picked you up around the corner from the mill. Say--" The man lowered his tone. "Gee, you're prettier than ever today, Elsie!" Something in his manner caused the girl to recoil. The shrinking movement did not escape Druce. "What's the matter, girlie?" he inquired. "Do you know that in all the weeks I have been coming down here from Chicago to see you, you haven't even kissed me?" "Please," pleaded the girl, pushing him away. She scarcely understood her mood. She only knew she did not want Druce to touch her. "What's the matter?" repeated Druce, following close behind her. "I--I don't know," faltered the girl, "I feel wicked somehow." "Why?" He led her to a bench and sat down beside her. "Haven't I always treated you like a lady?" "Yes, Martin, you've been good to me--but--I feel wicked." Druce laughed. "Nonsense, girlie," he said, "you couldn't be wicked if you tried. Do you know what you ought to do?" "What?" she asked. "Turn your back on this town where nothing ever happens and come to little old Chicago, the live village by the lake." "Chicago! What could I do there?" "Make more money in a month than you can earn here in a year." "But how?" "You can sing," said Druce appraisingly. "You're there forty ways when it comes to looks. Why they'd pay you a hundred dollars a week to sing in the cabarets." "Cabarets?" The girl's interest was aroused. "What's a cabaret?" "A cabaret," said Druce, "is a restaurant where ladies and gentlemen dine. A fine great hall, polished floors, rugs, palms, a lot of little tables, colored lights, flowers, silver, cut glass, perfumes, a grand orchestra--get that in your mind--and then the orchestra strikes up and you come down the aisle, right through the crowd and sing to them." "Oh, I'd love to do that," said the girl. "Why not try it?" "I--I wouldn't know how to begin." "I'll show you how." "Tell me, tell me how, quick." "Dead easy," Druce explained smoothly. "I'm going back to Chicago on the evening train tonight. Now there's no use having trouble with your folks. They wouldn't understand. You tell them you are going over to one of the neighbors', anything you can think of. That train slows down at the junction, right across the field there--you can always hear it whistle. I'll be aboard the last car and I'll take you to Chicago with me. Then when we get there we--" He broke off abruptly for Elsie started up from the bench and moved slowly away. "What's the matter, girlie?" asked Druce. "I--I don't know," the girl answered. "There isn't anyone here but just us, is there?" "No," replied Druce, watching the girl closely, "why?" "Because," she half whispered, "it seemed to me just then that someone touched me on the arm and said, 'Don't go!'"