“I think you are getting tired of me,” sobbed Letty, accusingly. “If you are, don’t be afraid to say so. I can bear it. It’s only one thing more for me to bear.” Mrs. Hawarden, at Desirée’s whispered plea, had offered Caleb a homeward lift in her carriage. The Fighter sat in heavy silence throughout the drive. When the carriage stopped at Desirée’s door, he helped her out and, with a grunt of goodnight to Mrs. Hawarden, followed the girl up the walk. Nor did he speak as he unlocked the door for her. But Desirée was in no haste to say goodnight. A waning moon made the veranda bright. The air was still warm. She threw her cloak over a chair arm and seated herself in a porch rocker; Caleb standing dumbly before her. She leaned back comfortably in the deep chair, looking up with inscrutable eyes at his silhouette that bulked big in the moonlight. Of a sudden, she fell to laughing softly. “Oh, you big baby!” she cried. “You’ve punished yourself all you’re going to. It’s _all_ right. Now stop being unhappy! Stop! _Smile!_” “You aren’t sore on me?” he asked in lingering doubt. “Silly! Why should I be?” “I--I made awful small of you, the way I acted,” he confessed. “If I can stand it, _you_ ought to,” she retorted. “Now be friends and stop sulking.” “You’re sure you ain’t mad,” he queried, still in doubt. “Mad? Not one smidgin!--I--” “Oh, Dey,” he interrupted, all contrition. “It was _rotten_ of me! To think of my snorin’ out loud an’ makin’ everybody rubber at you while they gave me the laugh! An’ you never batted an eye! You sat there lookin’ so friendly an’ cool, an’ talkin’ to me like nothin’ had happened! I could a’ knelt down and kissed both your feet, I kep’ a’ thinkin’ all evenin’ that you’d most likely take it out on me when we was alone. It’d a’ been only hooman nature if you had. That’s why I came here now. To take my medicine. An’ you ain’t even disgusted with me. You _ain’t_ are you?” he added in hasty need for reassurance. “Would you have been ‘disgusted’ with _me_,” she asked, “if it had been I instead of you that--?” “You know blame well I wouldn’t!” he declared, “An’ I’d a’licked ev’ry man in the place that dared to laugh or look sneerin’. I’d a’--” “That’s just what I wanted to do,” said Desirée. “If I was cross inside, it wasn’t at _you_, dear boy.” “I’ll win out on ’em yet,” growled Conover. “I made a mistake. An’ I’m ashamed of it. The only feller who’s never ashamed of his mistakes is a loonatic. And I ain’t a loonatic, by a long shot. I’m ashamed. But I’ll win.”