"Stefana's proud, too--she needn't pretend! I saw her kissin' Elly Precious's knee. But she'll scold; she thinks it's her duty. Mercy gracious, when Aunt Sarah knits an' Mother's back, I hope Stefana'll grow down again." The Man Person poised his teacup above the saucer, arrested by this new puzzle. "Er--grow how?" "Down. She's so terrible grown-up now. It's been pretty wearin' on my nerves. We use' to play dolls together. We don't ever now. She's too starched up." "Poor Stefana with her starch!" murmured Miss Theodosia. The poor little martyr to starch! It was to be hoped, indeed, that when Aunt Sarah knit, Stefana could grow down again and play dolls. "Do you know her mother--Evangeline's?" Miss Theodosia asked, after the child had gone. "Is Evangeline like her;--is that where she gets her Evangelineness?" "No, she must get it from the father. The mother is exactly like Stefana, or may be I've got it the wrong end to. I never saw the father; he died a few weeks before the baby was born." "Well, the father must have been remarkable; somebody is responsible for Evangeline. I love that child next to--my baby. Supposing--I think of it sometimes--supposing I had staid in Rome or Paris or Farthest Anyplace--not come home at all, you know,--then I should have missed it all. I should never have known those children." "Nor me," he ventured. She did not appear to hear, but went on musingly: "Something sent me home--I needed those children." "And me!" "I was going on a fast train--a through express--straight to Lonesome Land!" She laughed softly as if she were alone. "If Evangeline hadn't Flagged my train--it was Evangeline! She switched me off on another track." Miss Theodosia's tender eyes lifted and met the Man Person's with a little start of recognition as if saying: "Why, are you here!" But she met those other eyes staunchly. "I'm glad I stopped off at this Flagg station. I like it here." For a little the big room, bright with lamplight, was so still that the clock ticked impertinently. Miss Theodosia's tea cooled in its cup, and John Bradford had long ago forgotten his. The big hands on the chair-arms gripped them unconsciously. Then, suddenly, the man got to his feet and walked to the far end of the room. On his return he stopped before Miss Theodosia, looking down. "I love you," John Bradford said. The impertinent clock kept on, but Miss Theodosia could not hear it now for the ticking of her heart. Was she a frightened girl that she could not lift her eyes? "I was on that express, too--bound for that same place. I thank the Lord I got off here. I shall always thank Him, whether you can love me or not. I shall always love you. If you thought, sometime--I can wait--" Miss Theodosia's eyes lifted. But she shook her head. "I'm afraid not--sometime." He still stood, looking down. Very gently he touched her hair; she could hear the long breath he drew.