Now, poor Nannie was terribly awkward about anything that involved a show of feeling, so instead of taking this as she should have done, she merely said brusquely: "I made it." Then she colored violently, then immediately looked defiant. But her color and her defiance were both of them so pretty and engaging that Steve was moved by a rare impulse to go round to her and kiss her. Shocking as it may seem, Nannie caught him by the nose with a sudden fierce motion and held on with grim, unrelenting grasp. The whole scene occurred in a flash, as it were, and Steve was utterly unprepared for his own act, and still more so for its consequence. Impulsiveness with him, however, was unusual and short-lived, and even under these untoward circumstances he soon recovered his gentle gravity. "When are you going to release my nose, Nannie?" he said in his accustomed quiet tone. "Goodness knows!" she replied brusquely--possibly without intent to pun--but she let go. Steve retreated a step or two and seemed undecided as to what course to pursue. A certain air of dignity and reserve enveloped him at all times, and up to the present moment this had never failed to be respected by those with whom he had come in contact. It was hardly possible, then, to pass by so flagrant an outrage as this in silence. "I hardly think," he said gently, "you mean all the things you do." "I mean every one!" snapped Nannie, whose resentment was stirred, all the more so because she was ashamed of herself. "If that is the case," Steve replied, and as he spoke, quietly and without anger, he was conscious of a dull dread of her reply--"if that is the case, it can't be that you feel either love or respect for me." "I guess I don't, then," said Nannie rudely, and she rose from the table and went out into the garden. Steve stood irresolute for a time; then he took his hat and left the house. Never in all his life before had he felt as miserable and as helpless. At that moment the beauty died not only out of his own life, but out of nature as well. There was no longer a balm in Gilead. He walked on, instinctively taking one of his old paths, from which he had heretofore received so much of comfort and inspiration, but which to-night gave him absolutely nothing of either. It would seem that nature had shared the blow he had received and had been deadened by it. Poor Mother Nature, she was just the same, but her child was out of gear and she could do nothing but wait. By-and-by a change came, not in the way of happiness, perhaps, but in a lightening of that deadness which is of necessity the most hopeless of all conditions. Awaking from his torpor to a certain extent, Steve found himself engaged in some practical thoughts. He had lately been balancing his books, and the result was not encouraging. He was now reviewing this with a certain grim despondency and also a certain grim humor.