“You haven't changed a scrap. You are just as rude as you ever were.” Dan cast a hurried glance from the window. “Constance, we won't have much more time to ourselves; we are almost home. Won't you tell me what I have come to hear--that you do care for me, and will be my wife? You know that I love you. But you mustn't send me from you a second time without hope.” “I shouldn't think you would care about me now. I wouldn't care about you if you had been as unworthy as I have been,” her voice faltered. “I might have shown you that I, too, could be brave, but I let the opportunity pass, and now, when everyone is proud--” “But I _do_ care. I care a great deal, for I love you just as I have loved you from the very first.” She put out both her hands. “If you had only looked back when you left the house that day you told me you cared--” “What, Constance?” “I was at the window. I thought you'd surely look back, and then you would have known--” “My darling!” The carriage had drawn up to the Emorys' gate. Dan jumped out and gave Constance his hand. Off in the distance they heard the band. Constance paused and rested her hand gently on Oakley's arm. “Hark! Do you hear?” “I wish they'd stop their confounded nonsense,” said Dan. “No, you can't stop them,” delightedly. “Antioch feels a sense of proprietorship. But do you hear the music, Dan?” “Yes, dear. It's the band.” “Of course it's the band. But do you know what it is _playing?_” Oakley shook his head dubiously. She gave his arm a little pat and laughed softly. “It might be difficult to recognize it, but it's the bridal-march from 'Lohengrin.'” “If they stick to that, I don't care, Constance.” And side by side they went slowly and silently up the path to the house. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's The Manager of The B. & A., by Vaughan Kester