'Linda proved on that nearer, more delightfully intimate acquaintanceship with her to be the strangest creature of moods and caprices that could well be imagined. There seemed always a passionate desire in her heart to be all, in tenderness and gentleness, that her lover could wish; to show him how deep and sincere her love and gratitude were. Yet, though she succeeded in part in that desire, there were hours when she showed him only petulance; when the beautiful face was turned to him almost with careless indifference to meet his caress; when the words he uttered seemed to fall on unheeding ears. Again and again he left her at night with the miserable feeling that he had failed in some way to please her; blaming himself always, in that he was a rough and uncouth fellow, and that her delicacy and sweetness were things he could not properly meet. She was always filled with the deepest contrition afterward; was always a thousand times kinder and gentler to him than she had been before, so that the misery he had suffered was more than atoned for. On one memorable occasion, when nothing that he did or said seemed to please her all day, and when she had scarcely responded to his caress when they parted under the balcony, she came running after him while he was sadly walking down the avenue, and cried his name, caught his arm, and fell breathless upon his breast, weeping. He feared that something had occurred to startle her, and was beginning eagerly and anxiously to question her, when she stopped him and poured out all that was in her self-accusing heart. "Oh, my dear, my love, don't go from me like this! Why are you always so kind and good and gentle to me? Why don't you strike me, or laugh at me, or call me harsh names--anything that should teach me how bad I am and how shamefully I treat you? Dear heart, I've been horrid to you all day--won't you tell me that I've been horrid?" She looked up into his face and gently shook him. He looked down at her, held her close, and laughed happily. "No, I couldn't tell you that," he said slowly, "because it wouldn't be true, 'Linda dear. We can't always be alike, you know, and if the world doesn't go right with you sometimes--well, I suppose that isn't your fault. You're always a great deal too good to me, much more than I deserve, and I wouldn't have you different for all the world. Whether you're glad or sorry, or whether you say the sweetest things to me to tease me, you're just 'Linda, and that's all I want. You mustn't fret, dear; you've done nothing that I should call you harsh names for; there's nothing you could do--now or at any time--that could possibly be wrong. Don't you understand that? It's just because I love you, and think there's no one like you in the world, that I think everything you do is right. I don't seem to be able to say exactly what's in my heart, but I think you know."