“There’s another reason, little woman. You saw my friends yesterday. They’re inquisitive. I’m afraid they’ll annoy you. So this is my last day.” He gazed across at the New Jersey shore. She moved nearer, touching his arm ever so lightly. “Is--that--the-- real--reason?” she asked. He watched her red mouth frame each word, and his face lowered, as if irresistibly drawn toward hers. Then his head sank to a hand. He studied the path. Soon, “No,” he wrote, “it isn’t. The real reason involves a great happiness that I daren’t hope for.” Agatha leaned even closer. “There--is--a--possibility--of--your-- speech--returning?” she guessed. She held her breath at the very thought of it. He nodded. “Yes, it’s very likely that my speech will come back.” Agatha turned away, and glad tears swam beneath the black lashes. He would speak again! He would be like other people! Oh, how good! Presently, she blinked the tears away. “You--haven’t always--been--this--way?” she said. “Not always.” “When--did--it--happen?” “Quite recently.” Her face was sweet with pity. “Were--you--struck--dumb?” she asked. He observed her steadily for a moment. “I was terribly hard hit,” he wrote. “It--affected--your--hearing--too?” “It even affected my heart.” “Will--these--both--improve?” “It depends on just one person.” She gave him a smile full of cheer. “Doctors--do--wonderful--things-- these--days. Is--this--one--homeopathic?” “No, magnetic--awfully.” His grey eyes searched hers again. “Would you advise me to hope?” “Oh--yes! Just--hope--has--wrought marvels.” Her face shone with earnestness. “Bless you. But you don’t know that this is all the result of my own wickedness.” “You--have--been--more--than--punished--then.” He clenched his two hands. “Yes, I have been punished,” he wrote. “If you ever have to pass judgment upon me, remember that.” “Was--it--so--dreadful--what--you--did?” He thought a moment. “Not when you consider the temptation.” “What--was--the--temptation?” He hesitated so long that she believed he had not understood her. So she wrote the question, “What was the temptation?” “A girl.” Agatha shrank back in sudden, inexplicable indignation. Then she rose abruptly. She had meant to tell him that if he were to regain both speech and hearing it would make no difference in their arrangements. But now---- He rose, also, and dropped the pad into a pocket. Then he handed her the parasol. His attitude was one of resignation. Walking homeward, Agatha looked straight ahead, and two bright, red spots burned in a circle about her dimples. At the bottom of the Connaughton flight, she gave him a dignified good-morning. He held out a card to her. Then he raised his hat.