"I think I understand that, but nothing can make any difference as to us. That is one thing that is not for this world! Come, we must hurry on!" As she took a step forward he sprang in front of her. "Nan, I've got to go back to the city on the morning train. I want you to tell me now that you will marry me--let us say in the spring. Let me have that to look forward to. I've waited a long time, and the years are passing. I want you to say 'yes' to-night." He touched her shoulders lightly with his hands. They slipped along her arms till he clasped her fingers, tightly clenched in her muff. "You love me, Nan; I know you do! And you have known a long time that I care for you. Nothing was ever as dear as the thought of you. Whatever has gone before in my life is done and passed. I can't have you say 'no' to me. Please, dear Nan--dearest!" It was a strange place for lovers' talk, but the tumult of the storm was in Kirkwood's heart. The weariness of a laborious day vanished in the presence of this woman. His habitual restraint, the reticences of his nature were swept away. His was no midsummer passion; winter's battle-song throbbed in his pulses. He caught her arm roughly as she sought to continue their flight. "No, Tom; no!" "Then why?" he persisted. "It can't be because of Lois--you can't suspect that even the thought of her wounds me now. Jack's coming back proved that to me: I mean what I say; I don't care any more! There's nothing for me in this world but you--you and Phil! The memory of that other woman is gone; I give myself to you as though she had never been." "Oh, Tom, I don't believe you! I don't believe any man like you ever forgets! And Phil mustn't know you even think you have forgotten! That would be wrong; it would be a great sin! She must never think you have forgotten the woman who is her mother. And it isn't right that you should forget! There are men that might, but not you--not you, dear Tom!" She shook off his hands and flung herself against the storm. He plunged after her, following perforce. It was impossible to talk, so blinding was the slant of snow and sleet in their faces. She drove on with the energy born of a new determination, and he made no effort to speak again as he tramped beside her. When they reached the house in Buckeye Lane he sought to detain her with a plaintive "Please, Nan?" But she rapped on the door and when Rose opened it slipped in, throwing a breathless good-night over her shoulder. CHAPTER XIII THE BEST INTERESTS OF MONTGOMERY