"You have done a very wrong thing," she said slowly, "and you have placed me in a very difficult position. I do not want to lose you as a friend." She made a rapid movement of her fingers to check his exclamation. "If what you said were true, and you are too young to have said such solemn words, may I ask what right you had to say them to me?" "What right?" he said stupidly. "Yes, what right," she repeated, looking at him steadily with a certain wistfulness. "Are you in a position to ask me to be your wife?" "Let me think a moment," he said, drawing a breath. He walked away to the table, leaning his weight on it, while, without moving, she followed with a steady gaze, in which was a little pity. "Let me help you," she said at last. He turned and looked up for the first time, a look of wretchedness. "It would be too bad that one moment should spoil all our friendship," she said, "and because that would hurt me I don't want it so. You are a boy, and I am not yet a woman. I have always respected you, no more so than to-day, before--before you forgot your respect toward me. I want always to keep the respect I had for you." "Don't say any more," he said suddenly, with a lump in his throat. "I don't know why--what--why I forgot myself. Please don't take away from me your friendship. I will keep it very precious." "It is very hard to know what to do," she said. Then she added, with a little heightening of her color: "My friendship means a great deal." He put out his hand and gently took the end of a scarf which she wore about her shoulders, and raised it to his lips. It was a boyish, impulsive fantasy, and he inclined his head before her. Then he went out hurriedly, without speaking or turning, while the girl, pale and without moving, continued to stare at the curtain which still moved with his passing. CHAPTER XVIII Stover went rushing from the Storys' home, and away for a long feverish march along dusky avenues, where unseen leaves came whirling against him. He was humiliated, mortified beyond expression, in a panic of self-accusation and remorse. "It's all over," he said, with a groan. "I've made a fool of myself. I can never square myself after that. What under the shining stars made me say that? What happened? I hadn't a thought, and then all at once--Oh, Lord!" A couple of upper classmen returning nodded to him, and he flung back an abrupt "Hello," without distinguishing them. "Why did I do it?--why--why!"