Suddenly he stopped her. He laid his trembling fingers on her arm for a bare, reverent instant. “I am a coward at times, Ethel. You must forgive my weakness. I groan under a burden that I know is right because it is from the Infinite. No man should be as vain as I am tempted to be when I am with you. You can't understand now, but some day you may--if not here, in Eternity. There is only one way to look at it, and that is that God intends me to suffer.” Ethel found herself unable, wisely at least, to make any sort of suitable response, and in awkward silence they walked along together till the gate was reached. Then she said, nervously, and yet with firmness that was quite evident: “I want you to meet my friend to-day at dinner. I want him to know you. He belongs to a class of men who seem too busy to think of deep things--things aside from an active routine, but I am sure he will like you.” Paul's face clouded over; he averted his eyes as he unlatched the gate and swung it open. “Thank you, but I am afraid I can't to-day,” he said. “Uncle Si and his wife have asked me to take dinner with them.” “Oh, I'm sorry,” Ethel answered. “My mother will regret it, too, for she admires you and likes you very much. But we shall have our breakfast together in the summer-house, sha'n't we?” She glanced at the little vine-clad structure and essayed a playful smile. “Now, run in and take a seat, and let me attend to everything.” CHAPTER XIV |THAT afternoon, while the ladies were taking what Hoag called their “sy-esta” in their rooms, he entertained the guest, who was a dapper young man exquisitely dressed and carefully groomed, even to the daintiest of waxed mustaches. The two men were smoking in the big, cool parlor and chatting agreeably.