"Yes," he said. "It is good to be young. But isn't it anything to take your place in the world? I want you to know all a man can do for the woman he loves. Won't you let me? Soon?" He bent over her and took the rounded arm in his strong hand. She did not withdraw it, but something told him a link of sympathy was lacking in the chain. As she did not reply he straightened and sat moodily looking before him. "Don't think me capricious, please," she began. "You're everything I can hope for--and yet----" "And yet?" he repeated. She paused a moment, then broke in, "Forgive me, won't you? I don't know what it is. Something has affected me strangely." She leaned against the back of the bench, rested her head in her hand, away from him, and Crabb turned jealously toward her. "You were thinking--of him--of the other." "Why shouldn't I be honest with you? I can't help it. Something has suddenly brought him into my mind. I was wondering----" "Yes." "I was wondering where he is now--to-night. It is so beautiful here. Everything has been done to make us happy. I was thinking that perhaps if I had written him a line I might have saved him some terrible trial. It was only a boy-and-girl affair, of course, but----" Patricia suddenly stopped speaking, and both of them turned their heads toward the dark bank of bushes behind them. "What was it?" she asked. "A dead branch falling," he replied. They listened again, but all they heard was the sound of the orchestra and the voices of the dancers. "You're teaching me a lesson in patience," Crabb began again soberly. "I can wait, of course. I'm not jealous of _him_," he said. "I was only wondering how you could think of him at all." "I don't think of him--not in _that_ way. I believe I haven't thought of him at all--until to-night. To-night, I can't help thinking of others less fortunate than ourselves. I suppose it's only the natural thing that he should suffer. He never seemed to get things right, somehow; his point of view was always askew. He was a wild boy--but he was human." She paused and clasped her hands before her. Crabb sat silent beside her, but his brow was clouded. When he spoke it was in a voice low and constrained. "Do you think it kind--wise to speak of this now?" "I was thinking that perhaps if he'd had a little luck----" "He might have come back to you?" Patricia turned toward him and with a swift movement took one of his hands in both of hers. "Don't speak in that way," she pleaded. "You mustn't." But his fingers still refused to respond to her pressure. "If I think of him at all, it is because I have learned how great a thing is love and how much the greater must be its loss. You know," she whispered, timidly, "you know I--I love you." "God bless you for that," he murmured. They were so absorbed that they did not hear the sound behind them--a suppressed moan like that of an animal in pain.