“And lovers, I suppose?” inquired Conway gloomily. “Oh, lovers, of course,” replied Norine mischieviously. “But then,” she added, “old friends are dearest.” “I am glad you did not forget us all,” said Conway. “But tell me how you have enjoyed yourself?” And then Norine, pouting a little at his abtuseness, entered into a minute account of their city life; and they were in the midst of it when they returned to the house. Conway was almost a daily visitor at the cottage after this. “His people were shamefully healthy that summer,” he said, “and he was not half busy enough.” But I fancy that he had all the practice he wanted, for all that, and perhaps neglected a little of what he had. But if he did neglect his practice, there was no complaint made, and so he could idle through the greater part of the summer with Norine. “It is shameful the way we go on,” said Norine, one day. “I declare, we do nothing but wander through the woods together, when we should be doing something useful. Just think; you, a physician, with the lives of so many in your hands, and I almost an old woman.” “I don’t see that you are getting very old,” replied Conway, looking at her critically. “Look at me now. I am getting gray.” And he passed his hand thoughtfully over his head. “But I am nearly as old as you are,” retorted Norine. “And see what a great boy Clinton is getting to be! We both ought to be doing something useful.” “We are,” replied Conway lazily; “at least I am. I am storing my mind with your wise sayings. I shall pass them all off as original after you go.” “Nonsense!” laughed Norine, blushing a little. “Don’t be a goose, Lester. Really, I am ashamed of myself.” “It is very pleasant,” commented Conway. He was lying flat on his back in the shade, with his hands clasped under his head. “Yes, it is very pleasant,” assented Norine; “and I shall dread leaving the little place.” Conway let his head fall, and gazed blankly at the blue sky overhead. “She was right,” he thought. “It was all very foolish--the bliss of her presence was supreme now, but there was the parting to come.” He had not allowed himself to feed on false hopes; he had no expectation of winning her love. He had simply been content to enjoy the bliss of her presence without speculating on the future. But she was right--there was the parting to come; and he shrank coward-like from its bitterness. As he lay there supinely at her feet, he wondered if it were not better to end it all, and speculated over the old problem: Was his life worth the living, after all? This summer had been full of pleasure for him. Many a man would be content to die for so much, rather than stand the bitterness that was to follow. Then his strong common sense asserted itself, and he shook himself together and glanced at Norine. She was sitting with her hands folded together in her lap, and gazing into vacancy. He looked at her sadly for a moment, and then turned his eyes away.