The canoe had drifted nearer to the shore. At Stephen's suggestion she aroused herself from her lethargy and alighted on the bank. He soon followed, drawing the canoe on to the shore a little to prevent its wandering away. Marjorie walked through the grass, stooping to pick here and there a little flower which lay smiling at her feet. Stephen stood to one side and looked after her. III "Stephen," she asked, as she returned to him and stood for a moment smiling straight at him, "will you tell me something?" "Anything you ask," he assured her. "What do you wish to know?" But she did not inquire further. Her eyes were fixed in earnest attention upon the flowers which she began to arrange into a little bouquet. "Are you still vexed with me?" There! It was out. She looked at him coquettishly. "Marjorie!" he exclaimed. "What ever caused you to say that?" "I scarce know," she replied. "I suppose I just thought so, that was all." "Would I be here now?" He tried to assure her with a tone of sincerity. "One need not hear a man speak to learn his mind." "Yes. But I thought----" He seized hold of her hand. "Come," he said. "Won't you sit down while I tell you?" She accepted his offer and allowed herself to be assisted. "You thought that I was displeased with you on account of John Anderson," he remarked as he took his place by her side. "Am I correct?" She did not answer. "And you thought, perhaps, that I scorned you?" "Oh, no! Not that! I did not think that ... I ... I...." "Well, then, that I lost all interest in you?" She thought for a second. Then she smiled as if she dared not say what was in her mind. "Listen. I shall tell you. I did not reprove you with so much as a fault. I know well that it is next to impossible to be in the frequent presence of an individual without experiencing at some time some emotion. He becomes continually repugnant, or else exceedingly fascinating. The sentiments of the heart never stand still." "Yes, I know,--but...." "I did think that you had been fascinated. I concluded that you had been charmed by John Anderson's manner. Because I had no desire of losing your good will, I did ask you to avoid him, but at the same time, I did not feel free enough to cast aspersions upon his character and so change your good opinion of him. The outcome I never doubted, much as I was disturbed over the whole affair. I felt that eventually you would learn for yourself." "But why did you not believe in me? I tried to give you every assurance that I was loyal...." "The fault lay in my enforced absence from you, and in the nature of the circumstances which combined against you. I knew Anderson; but I was unaware of your own thought or purpose. My business led me on one occasion to your home where I found you ready to entertain him. The several other times in which I found you together caused me to think that you, too, had been impressed by him."