"If he does," said Mrs. Waite, firmly, "you may bring Garde back to me whenever you are ready.... He must be given the chance.... But most important of all, son, Garde must be given time to know her mind. To-night she doesn't love you. She has been honest enough to say so.... I know that hurts, son.... If she doesn't love you, you must give her a fair chance for happiness--you must win her.... You're not being a sportsman, son." "But, mother--" "Would you marry a girl who doesn't love you?" He hesitated; he was unhappy, disturbed. "No," he said, "but--" "But she doesn't know. Is it right to marry her before she knows?" Potter looked at Hildegarde appealingly, but she dropped her eyes evasively.... He understood. His mother was right, and Hildegarde interpreted rightly the deep breath which he drew. "I sha'n't go home again. You sha'n't make me." "You must, my dear," said Mrs. Waite. "There is no other place for you to go. You must see that you can't stay here.... It is impossible for you to go anywhere else.... It won't be for long, Garde, if you care--not if you love him. But you must go home to-night." "I sha'n't. I'll never sleep under the same roof with father again.... Oh, you don't know everything; you don't know...." She could not finish. She stopped, too proud to beg, feeling her utter helplessness.... There _was_ no place to go if she could not stay here. She was beaten. Fiercely she turned from Mrs. Waite to Potter. "Come," she said, furiously. "Won't you kiss me good night, dear?" Mrs. Waite said, gently. Garde refused to reply, but flung out of the room, followed by Potter. She would not allow him to help her into the car, and sat in moody silence as he started the engine. "You don't have to mind her," she said, suddenly. "You're not tied to her apron-strings.... If I'm willing to marry you, that's my affair.... I sha'n't go home.... We can go and be married some place." "No," he said, heavily. "Mother was right.... If you loved me--" She could not say it; even to purchase her freedom from the home she hated, she could not bring herself to declare a love she did not feel. Indeed, at the moment, she believed she hated Potter, hated his mother for her interference.... She was distracted. "You refuse to marry me?" she demanded. "I'll come for you to-morrow. I'll ask your father for you, and if he won't give you to me I'll break in and take you ... if you love me." "That's your final word?" Her voice was sharp, metallic. He nodded miserably. She did not speak again until they stood upon the piazza of her own house and she was about to open the door. Suddenly she turned on him, blazing with white fury. "You coward!" she said, hoarsely. "You quitter.... You contemptible quitter.... Oh, how I _despise_ you!" It seemed as if she could not contain herself. Suddenly she lifted her little hand and struck him across the mouth; then, sobbing with rage, she snatched open the door and disappeared within.