Another instant, and she stood away from me, one hand over her mouth, one hand on her panting breast, and fright in her eyes. Then, as suddenly, she laughed. It was hardly a nervous laugh. It welled up with the familiar gurgle from her throat. "John Upton," she said, "you are a bad man. That wasn't what the thrush said at all." "I misunderstood," said I, recovering more slowly, and astounded by her mood. "I'll not reproach you, since I, a philologist, misunderstood for a second myself," she responded. "Hark!" There was a sudden sound of steps and crackling twigs in the grove behind us, and Buster emerged up the path, hot on our scent. He made a dab with his tongue at my hand, and then fell upon Miss Goodwin. She sank to her knees and began to caress him, very quickly, so that I could not see her face. "Stella," said I, "Buster has made a friend of you. That's always a great compliment from a dog." She kept her face buried in his neck an instant longer, and then her eyes lifted to mine. "Yes--John," she said. "And now I must go home to pack my trunk." "Let me drive you to the station in the morning," said I, as we emerged from the grove, in this sudden strange, calm intimacy, when no word had been spoken, and I, at least, was quite in the dark as to her feelings. She shook her head. "No, I go too early for you. You--you mustn't try to see me." For just a second her voice wavered. She stopped for a last look at Twin Fires. "Nice house, nice garden, nice brook," she said, and added, with a little smile, "nice rose trellis." Then we walked up the road, and at Bert's door she put out her hand. "Good-bye," she said. "Good-bye," I answered. Her eyes looked frankly into mine. There was nothing there but smiling friendship. The fingers did not tremble in my grasp. "I shall write," said I, controlling my voice with difficulty, "and send you pictures of the garden." "Yes, do." She was gone. I walked slowly back to my dwelling. I had kept my resolution. Yet how strangely I had kept it! What did it mean? Had I been strong? No. Had she made me keep it? Who could say? All had been so sudden--the kiss, her springing away, her abrupt, astonishing laughter. But she had not reproached me, she had not been righteously angry, nor, still less, absurd. She had thought it, perhaps, but the mood of the place and hour, and understood. That was fine, generous! Few women, I thought, would be capable of it. Stella! How pleasant it had been to say the name! Then the memory of her kiss came over me like a wave, and my supper stood neglected, and all that evening I sat staring idly at my manuscripts and stroking Buster's head. Yes, I had kept my resolution--and felt like a fool, a happy, hopeless fool! Chapter XVI I GO TO NEW YORK FOR A PURPOSE