Since his declaration at Newark there had been something in the quality of his affection which she disliked. His eyes were always seeking hers, he tried to take her hand when occasion offered. If they were alone he would seat himself beside her, closer than she liked. She was growing very shy of him. The virginal instinct to fly from pursuit was strong in her. He began to wonder how much longer he should be able to bear the present situation. It was anomalous. They could not expect a letter from Felix for another ten days or more. And it might not be a letter which came. It might be Felix himself. As he hastened down from the terrace, and relieved her of the tall delphiniums and golden rod and dahlias which she carried, it was in his heart to catch her and hold her close, and cry to her that she was his, and that Felix should not come between them. Instead, he merely smiled upon her, and asked affectionately, but somewhat tritely, if she had missed him. She replied, with lowered eye-lids and a charming dignity, that she had. He meant to say something to the effect that he chafed against the restraints imposed upon him by their waiting, by their scrupulous regard for the absent man. Instead of that, he burst forth without reflection-- "Come and let us sit on the stone seat and talk! It is about a hundred years since I left you." Veronica did not look at all delighted, but she obediently turned with him, and they went slowly across the lawn to a distant part of the garden, where there was an Alpine rockery. They sat down together upon a small bench, let into the rocks which bordered the path. They had sat there often, during the few golden weeks since her return. But this afternoon Rona felt a restless insecurity, a desire to rise up and go and leave Denzil to himself. What could they say to each other? There was nothing to be said. Her heart was empty of any feeling for him, beyond the grateful affection which by no means craves stolen interviews. As for Denzil, for the first time in his life his impulses were galloping off with his reason. The very aloofness and gentle coolness of the maiden spurred him on. "Rona," he said feverishly, "I feel as if all my life I had been waiting to know that you are free." She smiled ambiguously. "Don't let us talk of that." "Of what, then? I don't feel at this moment as if I care a pin for anything else in the world." She regarded him with curiosity. "Do you really feel that?" "Indeed I do. Don't you?" She was gazing straight before her, and she shook her head. "Not a bit. I must tell the truth, you know. I feel the world is big, and very--frightfully--interesting. And there are many things I want to know about, and talk about." He sat very silent. "Then--then--you don't--er--return my feeling? You are not in love with me, as I am with you, Rona?" he wistfully demanded, at length. After a pause, "I don't know," she replied.