Scattering crumbled cornbread on the pecked, bare ground under the willows, he gave her a confiding look. Her heart stopped. "It's about Mr. Frost," Martie went on, "I've known him all my life; he's one of the nicest men here. I'm--I'm engaged to him, John!" His hand arrested, John looked at her steadily. There was a silence. "How do you mean--to be married?" he asked tonelessly, without stirring. Martie nodded. Under the willows, and in the soft fog of the morning, the thing suddenly seemed a tragedy. "Aren't you," he said simply, "aren't you going to marry me?" His tone brought the tears to her eyes. "I can't!" she whispered. "John, I'm sorry!" "Sorry," he echoed dully. "But--but I don't understand. You can't mean that you have promised--that you expect--to marry any one else but me?" And as Martie again allowed a silence to fall, he took a few steps away from her, walking like a person blinded by sudden pain. "I don't understand," he said again. "I never thought of anything but that we belonged to each other--I've thought of it all the time! And now you tell me--I can't believe it! Is it settled? Is it all decided?" "My family and his family know," Martie said. "Oh, but Martie--you can't mean that!" he burst out in agony. "What have I done! What have I done--to have you do this! You don't love him!" "John," she said steadily, catching his hands, "even if I were free, you aren't, dear. We could never be married while Adele lives." He turned his steady gaze upon her. "Then last night--" he asked gravely. "Last night I was a fool, John--I was all to blame! I'm so sorry--I'm so terribly sorry!" "I thought last night--" He turned away under the willows, and she anxiously followed him. "You let me think you cared!" "John, I do care!" "You SAID you did!" "I don't know what was the matter with me," Martie said wretchedly, "I was so carried away by seeing you so suddenly--and thinking of old times--and of all we had been through together--" "But it wasn't of that we talked, Martie!" "I know." Her head drooped. "I know!" "I'm so sorry," he said, bewildered and hurt. "I don't understand you. I can't believe that you are going to marry that man, whoever he is; you didn't say anything about him last night! Who is he--what right has he got to come into it?" "He's a good and honourable man, John, and he asked me. And I said yes." "You said yes--loving me?" "Oh, John dear--you don't understand--" "No," he said heavily, "I confess I don't." The tone, curt and cold, brought tears to her eyes, and he saw them. Instantly he was all penitence. "Martie--ah, don't cry! Don't cry for me! Don't--I tell you, or I shall rush off somewhere--I can't see you cry! I'll try to understand. But you see last night--last night made me hope that you might care for me a little--I couldn't sleep, Martie, I was so happy! But I won't think of that. Now tell me, I'm quite quiet, you see. Tell me. You don't mean that you don't--feel anything about it?"