But when Bob sailed on the Monday she was free to make the great test. Notwithstanding his definite farewells on the Saturday, he had tried to see her again on the Sunday, but the necessity for secrecy made it possible for her to put him off. For one thing, she couldn’t go through a second time such a good-by as that of Saturday. Bob had been too much overcome. As unexpectedly to himself as to her, he had broken down. Braving all publicity, he had suddenly seized her hand, pressed it to his lips, and as he bent over it she could feel his tears against her fingers. He hadn’t exactly cried; he had only breathed hard, with two great sobs. "My God! how I love you, Jennie!" she had heard him muttering. "How I love you! How I love you! How can I do without you all the time till I come back?" When he raised his head he laughed sheepishly, though the tears were still on his cheeks. "Forget it, little girl," he begged, unsteadily, wiping his cheeks and blowing his nose. "I just worship you, and that’s all there is about it. It breaks me all up to go away and leave you; but the time will pass, and, if I can help it, I shall never go away from you again." Defying the park laws once more, he had kissed her and kissed her. She had let him do it because she was so unnerved. Besides, she was sorry for him, and would have been sorrier still if she hadn’t known that by to-morrow he would have forgotten her. That was always the way with fellows who took things so hard. The true love was too stern and strong to show emotion. Nevertheless, she had had an unhappy Sunday thinking of those two sobs. It was not until after ten o’clock on Monday morning that she was able to turn again to the compulsion of the man she loved. At ten, Bob sailed, and that episode in Jennie’s life was probably behind her. By the time he came back, he would be in love with a girl of his own class and eager to seize the freedom she, Jennie, would be in a position to deliver him. At last the way was clear. She had only to go to her lover and tell him she was there. She went that afternoon. Her plan was simple. She would say that if he had not yet found a model for the girl in the Byzantine chair, she was ready to do the work. The rest would come as a matter of course. Now that she was face to face with the task, her heart was oddly apathetic. "I might be out to buy postage stamps," she said to herself, while crossing the ferry.