So she told him, told as much of the plan as her uncle had told her. He listened without speaking. At the end she said: “If I weren’t for leaving him I should be so wildly happy I shouldn’t know what to do. But, oh, Bob, I know what letting me go means to him. And he had planned to go with me. He and I have talked ever so many times about going to Paris together. Now he can’t go. That miserable suit and the horrid lawyers are keeping him here. But because he thinks I ought to go he is sending me and not thinking of himself at all. He will be perfectly wretched without me. I know it. I almost feel like saying that I won’t go until he does. Perhaps I ought to say it--and stick to it. What do you think?” He did not reply, nor did he look at her. She bent forward to look at him. “Why, Bob!” she cried. “What is the matter?” He shook his head. “I wonder if you think your uncle is going to be the only wretched person in this neighborhood?” he muttered. “Do you think that?” “Why--why, I suppose Aunt Reliance will miss me.” He looked up then. “How about me?” he asked. “You! You?... Why--why, Bob, I don’t believe I thought of you.” “I don’t believe you did. I am afraid you didn’t. But do you imagine I shall be--well, altogether joyful?” She could not answer. For, all at once, she _was_ thinking of him. It seemed strange that she had not done it before. She had not realized that her glorious trip meant the end of their companionship. If not the end, then at least a year of separation. And suddenly, with the realization, came a new feeling--a rush of feelings. She gasped. “Why--why, Bob--” she faltered. He had risen and was standing beside her, bending over her. “Esther,” he pleaded, desperately, “do you suppose I shan’t be completely miserable if you go away and leave me? Why--why, you know it! You must know it! What do you suppose my knowing you and--and being with you, like this, means to me? Esther, doesn’t it mean anything to you--anything at all?” She was beginning to comprehend what it did mean. But she knew she must not think it. It was impossible--it was insane--it was-- “Oh, don’t, Bob! Don’t!” she begged. “You--you mustn’t--” “I must. I’ve got to. It may be my only chance. Esther, don’t you care anything about me? I thought--I was beginning to hope-- Oh, Esther, you are the only girl in the world for me. I love you.” “Bob! Bob! Don’t!” “I do. I love you. Say you love me! Say it! Say it!” She had risen to her feet. Some wild idea of escape--of running from the room--was in her mind. But his arms were about her. “Say it! Say it, dear!” he pleaded. “No, no! I mustn’t! You mustn’t--” “You do love me? You do, don’t you, Esther?” “Oh, I don’t know! I-- Oh, of course I don’t! I mustn’t! Let me go.” “No, I shan’t let you go until you tell me. You do care for me, dear? Tell me you do.” “No, Bob.... Oh, please let me go!”