“It's not as if I were going away—not as if I were to leave the town. We shall see each other constantly.” “It's worse than if you were going away. It's a great deal worse. Then I could make up my mind to it and could, I suppose, bear it somehow.” “Dear,” he spoke softly, “dearest, please look up. I want to talk to you. Can't you listen to me? Please, dear, it's not so bad. It might be worse.” “It's bad enough!” without lifting her head from where it rested upon his arm. “It couldn't be worse. I couldn't suffer more.” “Can't you be hopeful? Can't you try?” “I do try.” “It is coming nearer all the while. I am making money—I shall make more. Don't you believe in my ability?” “It's not that. I am confident of the future, but the present is so horrible, with all manner of doubt. Do you,” looking up and letting her glance meet his for a moment, “do you honestly think it will ever be as we hope?” “Yes. It can not be otherwise. It only means patience—only a little waiting.” “Tell me what papa said.” “He asked me to stop coming here until such time as I am in a position to be accepted formally as your intended husband.” “And when will that be?” shaking her head. “It can't be so very far off and it comes closer with every day. If I could only give you some of my hope—if I only could!” “You do—but—” “I do, but it fails in its mission.” “Tell me what he said.” “It all amounted to this. I must forego the pleasure of seeing you, except very infrequently.” “Is it good-by you are saying to me? Is it? Is it?” “I fear it is. You must forgive me, but I have to show some little pride, and there is but one course open to me. It's not choice, but necessity that influences me in my decision.” “Does he want to make me hate him! I shall.” She gave way utterly to her emotions and Philip did the best he could to soothe her as she stood within the protecting circle of his arms. “I have exhausted my patience. I am tired—tired. How do I know it will ever come. It has been years already,” she said at last. “It is no more doubtful than anything else would be. I am putting forth all my energy.” “I am tired. I am tired.” “I have this to reproach myself with. I thought in the beginning success would come sooner. I have kept on and on, and now I am as far from it as ever. It has been four years, Barbara, four years. I am so sorry, dear, so sorry.” “If you go I shall never see you again. Something will happen. I shall be driven into something dreadful. I shall be at papa's mercy, and I haven't any strength of character. He can do what he likes when you are gone, and I shall give in. I always do.” Her whole attitude was one of weak complaint. It was fast forcing Philip to the verge of madness. As if she divined what his thoughts were, she said: “You don't respect me. You think I don't amount to anything.” “I love you!” he said gravely. “And now I must go.” “You are not going!—not yet!—not yet!”