“Well, what is it? I wish you'd tell me. I came over here full of something I had to tell you--but I can't, now; not while you're like this.” He watched her yearningly. “Oh, I can't tell you. It's nothing.” Val jerked a sweet-pea viciously from its stem, pressed her hand against her mouth, and turned reluctantly toward him. “What was it you came to tell me?” He watched her narrowly. “I'll gamble you're down in the mouth about something hubby has said or done. You needn't tell me--but I just want to ask you if you think it's worth while? You needn't tell me that, either. You know blamed well it ain't. He can't deal you any more misery than you let him hand out; you want to keep that in mind.” Another blossom was demolished. “What was it you came to tell me?” she repeated steadily, though she did not look at him. “Oh, nothing much. I'm going to leave the country, is all.” “Kent!” After a minute she forced another word out. “Why?” Kent regarded her somberly. “You better think twice before you ask me that,” he warned; “because I ain't much good at beating all around the bush. If you ask me again, I'll tell you--and I'm liable to tell you without any frills.” He drew a hard breath. “So I'd advise you not to ask,” he finished, half challengingly. Val placed a pale lavender blossom against a creamy white one, and held the two up for inspection. “When are you going?” she asked evenly. “I don't know exactly--in a day or so. Saturday, maybe.” She hesitated over the flowers in her lap, and selected a pink one, which she tried with the white and the lavender. “And--_why_ are you going?” she asked him deliberately. Kent stared at her fixedly. A faint, pink flush was creeping into her cheeks. He watched it deepen, and knew that his silence was filling her with uneasiness. He wondered how much she guessed of what he was going to say, and how much it would mean to her. “All right--I'll tell you why, fast enough.” His tone was grim. “I'm going to leave the country because I can't stay any longer--not while you're in it.” “Why--Kent!” She seemed inexpressibly shocked. “I don't know,” he went on relentlessly, “what you think a man's made of, anyhow. And I don't know what _you_ think of this pal business; I know what I think: It's a mighty good way to drive a man crazy. I've had about all of it I can stand, if you want to know.” “I'm sorry, if you don't--if you can't be friends any longer,” she said, and he winced to see how her eyes filled with tears. “But, of course, if you can't--if it bores you--”