"No. That would lay me open to--to cowardice--perhaps your father's displeasure." "Kurt Dorn, it's brave to give up some things!... And if you go you'll incur _my_ displeasure." "Go!" he ejaculated, staring at her. "Oh, I know!... And I'm--well, not flattered to see you'd rather go hang I.W.W.'s than stay here with me." Lenore did not feel the assurance and composure with which she spoke. She was struggling with her own feelings. She believed that just as soon as she and Kurt understood each other--faced each other without any dissimulation--then she would feel free and strong. If only she could put the situation on a sincere footing! She must work for that. Her difficulty was with a sense of falsity. There was no time to plan. She must change his mind. Her words had made him start. "Then you know?" he asked. "Of course." "I'm sorry for that," he replied, soberly, as he brushed a hand up through his wet hair. "But you will stay home?" "No," he returned, shortly, and he looked hard. "Kurt, I don't want _you_ mixed up with any lynching-bees," she said, earnestly. "I'm a citizen of Washington. I'll join the vigilantes. I'm American. I've been ruined by these I.W.W.'s. No man in the West has lost so much! Father--home--land--my great harvest of wheat!... Why shouldn't I go?" "There's no reason except--_me_," she replied, rather unsteadily. He drew himself up, with a deep breath, as if fortifying himself. "That's a mighty good reason.... But you will be kinder if you withdraw your objections." "Can't you conceive of any reason why I--I beg you not to go?" "I can't," he replied, staring at her. It seemed that every moment he spent in her presence increased her effect upon him. Lenore felt this, and that buoyed up her failing courage. "Kurt, you've made a very distressing--a terrible and horrible blunder," she said, with a desperation that must have seemed something else to him. "My heavens! What have I done?" he gasped, his face growing paler. How ready he was to see more catastrophe! It warmed her heart and strengthened her nerve. The moment had come. Even if she did lose her power of speech she still could show him what his blunder was. Nothing in all her life had ever been a hundredth part as hard as this. Yet, as the words formed, her whole heart seemed to be behind them, forcing them out. If only he did not misunderstand! Then she looked directly at him and tried to speak. Her first attempt was inarticulate, her second was a whisper, "Didn't you ever--think I--I might care for you?" It was as if a shock went over him, leaving him trembling. But he did not look as amazed as incredulous. "No, I certainly never did," he said. "Well--that's your blunder--for I--I do. You--you never--never--asked me." "You do what--care for me?... What on earth do you mean by that?"