He ran his fingers through his moist, disheveled hair—and then looked at them curiously. With his other hand he fanned himself with his straw hat. Jane, who had been silent during the brief colloquy between her father and Oliver, was studying the young man’s face intently. She was puzzled by his manner and by his expression. He spoke jerkily, as if under a strain, and his lips twitched. She noticed that his shoes were very muddy. “I came over by the back road, along the swamp,” he explained, catching her in the act of staring at his feet. “Father walked part of the way with me. He was pleasant enough to start off with, and I thought everything was all right between us, but when I told him I couldn’t reconsider—he went up in the air—and—Gee, what a panning he gave me! It was terrible, Mr. Sage. I saw red. I felt like taking him by the throat and choking him, just to make him stop abusing me. I—I had to run—I couldn’t stand it. God, how miserable I am!” He put his hands over his eyes and his shoulders shook convulsively. Jane and her father looked on, speechless. After a few moments, Mr. Sage arose and, with a sign to his daughter, entered the house, leaving her alone with Oliver. “Poor, poor Oliver,” she whispered, moving over close beside him on the step. “It is all so strange and unreal. He loves you. You are everything in the world to him. I can’t understand why he treats you like this. I—I wonder if he isn’t just a little bit unbalanced. He must be. He—” “I don’t think he is,” groaned Oliver, lifting his head. “If I thought it was that, I’d put up with anything—I’d overlook everything. But your father is right. He’s as clear-minded as he ever was. He’s got it in for me for some reason and he—” “If I were you, Oliver, I should tell him to-morrow that you intend to stay here and go into the store.” “I don’t know that even that would help matters.” “Try it, Oliver,” she said gently. The clock on the town-hall struck twelve before Oliver reluctantly bade Jane good night and started homeward. Looking over his shoulder from the bottom of the lawn, he saw her standing on the steps in the glow of the porch light. He waved his hand and blew a kiss to her. There were lights in Mr. Sage’s study windows upstairs. On his way home, through the heart of the town, he passed the rather pretentious house in which the Lansings lived. There were people on the broad veranda. He recognized Sammy Parr’s boisterous laugh. He longed for the companionship of friends—merry friends. His heart was heavy. He was lonely. He turned in at the stone gate and walked swiftly up to the house. “Hello, Ollie,” called out Sammy. “Just in time to say good night.” Young Lansing came to the top of the steps to greet him. “I’ve been up saying good-by to Mr. Sage and Jane. And the funny part of it is that I may not go away to-morrow after all,” said Oliver. Lansing started and gave him a keen, startled look.