Taken completely unawares, Elise turned quickly about from the sunset to look at him. Her gray eyes weighed his truth in the balance for five seconds. His manner was softened and natural, his face and attitude spoke love in every line. Her eyes dropped before his, and a rich colour came to her throat, cheek and temple as she turned again to the golden west. Rutledge made a step toward her as if to take her. Her hand went up to stay him, though the lovelight was on her face. "Don’t," she said gently. She was disposed to play with her happiness, to hold him at arm’s length. "Why do you come to me again, Mr. Rutledge? You have had my answer once, and it must have convinced you." Her words and her manner were contradictory, and Rutledge was confused. "You plead without hope. You told the people yesterday that you had not even the hope to be engaged to me. Why pursue a hopeless—no, no, don’t!" she again commanded as, ignoring her words, he moved to answer her smile. "And it’s better so, Mr. Rutledge. You yourself have said it; and you can hardly expect me to gainsay it." Despite the smile on her face this was a shot that went home, and it put Rutledge on the defensive. "You could hardly expect me to say less, Elise, after your denial of your love for me." "My love for you? Of all the presumption!" Elise caught her breath at this rejoinder, but it only gave zest to the game and she tilted her chin mockingly at him. Rutledge, with some deliberation, took from an inside coat pocket a letter, and handed it to her. She glanced at it in astonished surprise, and her face went hard. "Where did you get this?" she cried. "In the mail, yesterday afternoon. Elise, I didn’t delay a moment in coming to you. It came—" "So this is what brought you!" "Yes. I—" "And you thought I sent it?"—her voice was as hard as her eyes were cold. "No. But you wrote it, and—" "Did I?" "Didn’t you?" "What a question!—and you came because you thought a lady called. Certainly you did! You Southerners are so abominably gallant.... You have acquitted yourself very handsomely, Mr. Rutledge. I congratulate you. You have thoroughly vindicated your claim to the name of ’gentleman’—’Southern gentleman,’ if the term is of more excellence. Assuredly nothing further is required of you. I ex—" "Elise, you wrote that letter." "No." "Elise!" "Stop. Don’t touch me!"—but his left arm went determinedly about her, and only with both hands could she hold his right hand away. "You wrote that letter, Elise; and you love me." "No—never—no!" ... Her physical resistance seemed a match for his strength. "It is useless, Elise," he said to her as with tense muscles he strove to subdue her will and her wilful pride. "I have always loved you, and now that I know you love me nothing shall divide us. Why should you hold out against love?"