“Oh, I know the difference, and I don't like to stand by and let you throw yourself away. You see, Annie, I haven't known you very long, but it has been long enough to make it impossible to forget you. I haven't any more than made my start, but I'm sure I am headed right, and if I could tell you the chance there is ahead of me to do something big, maybe you would understand why I believe I'm going to be able to offer you the kind of life you ought to have--the kind you were made for. I don't want to climb up alone. I want some one with me--some one to help me make it. You may think this is sudden--and you would be right. It _is_ sudden. I have felt a little important about my work, I'm afraid, for I really have been doing well. But ever since you just looked at me with those eyes of yours, the whole business has gone upside down. Don't blame me for talking out this way. It's your fault for being what you are. I expect to finish up my work here pretty soon now, and then I 'll have to go away, and there's no telling where I 'll be.” Annie was puzzled. “Oh, you finish so soon? It is only September now.” “I have to move on when the work is done, you know. I obey orders.” “But I thought you were a student, Mr. Beveridge?” He hesitated; he had said too much. Chagrined, he rose, without a word, at her “Come, I must go back now,” and returned with her to the house. And when they were approaching the steps, he was just angry enough with himself to blunder again. “Wait, Annie. I see you don't understand me. But there is one thing you _can_ understand. I want to go away knowing that you aren't going to encourage Smiley any longer. You can promise me that much. I don't want to talk against him; but I can tell you he's not the man for you; he's not even the man you think he is. Some day I will explain it all. Promise me that you won't.” But she hurried on resolutely toward the house, and there was nothing to do but follow. “Will you take my word for it, Annie,--that you 'll do best to let him alone?” She shook her head and hurried along. On the steps sat a gloomy figure--Dick, in his Sunday clothes, white shirt and collar, red necktie, and all. His elbows rested on his knees, his chin rested on his hands, and the darkness of the great black Lake was in his soul. He watched the approaching figures without raising his head; he saw Beveridge lift his hat and turn away toward the bank; he let Annie come forward alone without speaking to her. She put one foot on the bottom step, and nodded up at him. “Here I am, Dick. Do you want to sit here or--or walk?” He got up, and came slowly down to the sand. “So this is the way you treat me, Annie?” “I'm not late, am I, Dick? It can't be much after eight.” “So you go walking with him, when--when--” “Now, Dick, don't be foolish. Mr. Beveridge came around early, and wanted me to walk, and--and I told him I couldn't stay away--”