“Yes, and just as she was cuddling up in bed”--Mrs. Porter's selection of words had never been so adroit--“she called me to her and said that she wondered if you would mind never telling how foolish she had been to meet you out here like she did. I don't know why she was so particular, unless it is that people in this day and time love to throw up to a preacher's wife all the imprudent things she did when she was young.” “Mrs. Porter, do you actually think Cynthia loves that man?” Floyd's voice shook, and he leaned heavily against the frame of the arbor. “Love him? How can anybody tell who a woman loves? They don't know themselves half the time; but I'll say this to you: Mr. Hillhouse has been courting her in an open, straightforward way, and that pleased her. He's a man of brains, too, and is going to work his way high up in his profession. He'll be a great light some day. The regard of a man like that is a compliment to a poor country girl; and then she is sure of a life of solid respectability, while with you--good gracious! What's the use of talking about it? But you haven't told me whether you will agree not to bother her again. She'll be anxious to know what you said about that. You see, you might get drunk again, and there is no telling how foolish and persistent you may become, and--” “I shall not bother her again,” said Floyd. “Tell her I gave you my faithful promise on that. Not only that, but I am going away, and shall never come back here again.” “Well, I'll tell her--I'll tell her in the morning as soon as she wakes up. La me! I used to be a girl myself, and there was no bother equal to having an old beau hanging around, as we girls used to say in slang, after he'd got his 'walking papers'--that is, after the right man was settled on.” “There is one thing I want you to tell her”--Floyd breathed heavily--“and that is that I'll never care for any other girl.” “Shucks! I won't take any such message as that,” the old woman sniffed. “Besides, what's the use? After a flirtation is laid away it ought to die a natural death. The biggest wasters of time in the world are married women who love to look back on old love-scrapes, and sit and brag about them, instead of mending socks and attending to the responsibilities that are piled up on every hand. Well, I'm going in now. It's been a long, hot day, but in this thin dress I feel chilly. I don't want to be hard on you, and I wish you well, so I do, where-ever you go.” “Thank you, Mrs. Porter,” and, with his head hanging low, Nelson Floyd turned to leave. “I can only assure you,” he added, “that I'll never trouble Cynthia any more. I shall certainly respect her wish.” “All right; that's as much as she could ask of you,” the old woman returned; “and perhaps, since you are so polite, I ought to thank you.”