"Oh," he said, and then paused. "Oh, I'm so glad!" Very simple words but they contained volumes. He was silent for a moment unable to say any more, and she filled in the awkward pause nervously, scarcely knowing what she said. "You were sorry too, were you not, when you went away?" "It was the hardest task I ever met in my life," said Roderick. "And you didn't let me say good-bye to you." He was growing quite reckless now to speak thus to a young lady who might be going to announce her engagement. She had not gained anything by her headlong plunge into conversation so she tried again. "Not even your operation?" she asked. "That was worse, wasn't it?" "My operation wasn't hard," said Roderick dreamily, his mind going back to the sacred wonder of that hour. "No, I had--help." He said it hesitatingly. It was hard to mention that event, even to her. He had spoken of it to no living person but his father. "Indeed, I heard about how brave you were," she said. "I was told that there was never any one with such self-control." Roderick looked at her in alarm. "Who told you?" he asked abruptly. She looked straight across at him and her eyes were very steady, though her colour rose. "Doctor Wells told me. He assisted, didn't he?" Roderick's eyes fell. He tried to answer but he sat before her dumb and dismayed. She saw his confusion, and rightly guessed the cause. Her nature was too simple and direct to pretend, she wanted to tell him the truth and she did not know how. "Doctor Wells was here last winter," she faltered, as a beginning, then could get no further. Roderick made a desperate effort to regain control of himself, and spoke with an attempt at nonchalance. "Yes, he told me he was coming. He promised to come and see me too, but he didn't." "No," she caught a twig of cedar from a branch that brushed her fragrantly as she passed. Her fingers trembled as she held it to her lips. "He--he told you he was coming?" she asked. "Yes," said poor Roderick briefly. "Then--then, perhaps he told you why?" She was examining the cedar sprig carefully, and Roderick was thankful. He would not have cared for her to see his face just then. She was going to tell him of her renewed engagement he knew. "Yes, he told me," he said. She was silent for a little, looking away over the ripples of Lake Simcoe to the green arms of the channel that showed the way to Algonquin. "Would it--would you think it right to tell me what he said?" "He said," repeated Roderick, wishing miserably that Wells' words did him less credit, "he said that even if a fellow played the fool once in his life that was no reason why he should take it up as a life's profession." He paused and then came out in the boldness of desperation with the rest. "And he said that he was pretty sure he would get a welcome when he came." She flushed at that, and there came a proud sparkle into her eyes.