“I stated a hope, not a fact,” he said in meek uncandor. “Don't you think you ought to have done so?” “I don't--I don't understand you,” panted Lydia, confusedly arresting her bolts in mid-course. Staniford pursued his guilty advantage; it was his only chance. “I gave way to Mr. Hicks when you had an engagement with me. I thought--you would come back to keep your engagement.” He was still very meek. “Excuse me,” she said with self-reproach that would have melted the heart of any one but a man who was in the wrong, and was trying to get out of it at all hazards. “I didn't know what you meant--I--” “If I had meant what you thought,” interrupted Staniford nobly, for he could now afford to be generous, “I should have deserved much more than you said. But I hope you won't punish my awkwardness by refusing to walk with me.” He knew that she regarded him earnestly before she said, “I must get my shawl and hat.” “Let me go!” he entreated. “You couldn't find them,” she answered, as she vanished past him. She returned, and promptly laid her hand in his proffered arm; it was as if she were eager to make him amends for her harshness. Staniford took her hand out, and held it while he bowed low toward her. “I declare myself satisfied.” “I don't understand,” said Lydia, in alarm and mortification. “When a subject has been personally aggrieved by his sovereign, his honor is restored if they merely cross swords.” The girl laughed her delight in the extravagance. She must have been more or less than woman not to have found his flattery delicious. “But we are republicans!” she said in evasion. “To be sure, we are republicans. Well, then, Miss Blood, answer your free and equal one thing: is it a case of conscience?” “How?” she asked, and Staniford did not recoil at the rusticity. This how for what, and the interrogative yes, still remained. Since their first walk, she had not wanted to know, in however great surprise she found herself. “Are you going to walk with me because you had promised?” “Why, of course,” faltered Lydia. “That isn't enough.” “Not enough?” “Not enough. You must walk with me because you like to do so.” Lydia was silent. “Do you like to do so?” “I can't answer you,” she said, releasing her hand from him. “It was not fair to ask you. What I wish to do is to restore the original status. You have kept your engagement to walk with me, and your conscience is clear. Now, Miss Blood, may I have your company for a little stroll over the deck of the Aroostook?” He made her another very low bow. “What must I say?” asked Lydia, joyously. “That depends upon whether you consent. If you consent, you must say, 'I shall be very glad.'” “And if I don't?” “Oh, I can't put any such decision into words.” Lydia mused a moment. “I shall be very glad,” she said, and put her hand again into the arm he offered. As happens after such a passage they were at first silent, while they walked up and down.