She had gone out with him half a dozen times perhaps, when, one evening at a dance, Mr. Allie, seeking, found her at the far end of a veranda where the side steps went down to the gravel. She and Georgy were sitting there together. Georgy was telling her of his aspirations and, in passing, dwelling on the lack of any civic spirit in the town, the inference seeming to be that Georgy, modest as he was, some day himself meant to supply it. Mr. Allie told Georgy that a waiting damsel was expecting him, then took Georgy's place. He did not speak for a while, and Alexina never was talkative. "Would you rather go in and dance?" at last he asked. "Why," said Alexina; "no." Which was not quite true for she loved to dance these days. She used to be afraid she was not going to have a successive partner and it marred the full enjoyment of the one she had, but now-- Still, any one would be flattered to have Mr. Allie asking, so she said no. "Then we'll stay," he said; which was not brilliant, to be sure, but it was the way in which Mr. Allie said things which made them seem pregnant of many meanings. After that neither of them spoke, yet Alexina's pulses began to beat. The big side yard upon which the steps descended was flooded with moonlight, and a mockingbird was sending forth a trial note or two. And it was June. "For you know, really, you're the very dearest of them all," said Mr. Allie, with soft decision, as if he had been arguing about it. There was not a thing to say, and she could not have said it if there had been. "And I've known a good many," continued Mr. Allie, which probably was true, only Mr. Allie knew how true; "but I've never felt just this way about any of them before." Then they sat very still, and the bird note rose and fell. "Maybe you'd rather go in," said Mr. Allie as the music began again. Was it hurt in his tone? "Oh," said Alexina, "no." Mr. Allie picked up the end of the scarf which had fallen to the steps and put it about her shoulders again. It brought his face around where he could see hers. Was he laughing? Or were his eyes full of reproach? For what? He did not look a bit like a contemporary of anybody's mother. Yet perhaps the moustache that drooped over the mouth did hide--lines, and the lazy eyes sometimes did look tired. Youth has its dreams, vague, secret, yet the Prince of the dreams should be no Mr. Allie with eyes that look weary and tired. "If I thought," said Mr. Allie softly, oh, so softly; "if I thought that you could care?" "Oh," said Alexina, "no, I couldn't." She sobbed. It seemed cruel to Mr. Allie.