They were almost at the parsonage. The light from Mr. Kendall's study window shone through the leaves of the lilac bush behind the white fence. Helen started to speak, but hesitated. He repeated his question. “Now don't you?” he urged. “Why, why, yes, I suppose I do,” she said, slowly. “I do know--now. But I didn't even think of such a thing until--until you came that evening and told me what Issy Price said.” “You mean you didn't guess at all?” “Well--well, perhaps I--I thought he liked to come--liked to--Oh, what is the use of being silly! I did think he liked to call, but only as a friend. He was jolly and lots of fun and we were both fond of music. I enjoyed his company. I never dreamed that there was anything more than that until you came and were so--disagreeable. And even then I didn't believe--until to-night.” Again she hesitated. “To-night?” he repeated. “What happened to-night?” “Oh nothing. I can't tell you. Oh, why can't friends be friends and not. . . . That is why I spoke to you, Albert, why I wanted to have this talk with you. I was going away so soon and I couldn't bear to go with any unfriendliness between us. There mustn't be. Don't you see?” He heard but a part of this. The memory of Raymond's face as he had seen it when the young man strode out of the cloakroom and out of the hotel came back to him and with it a great heart-throbbing sense of relief, of triumph. He seized her hand. “Helen,” he cried, “did he--did you tell him--Oh, by George, Helen, you're the most wonderful girl in the world! I'm--I--Oh, Helen, you know I--I--” It was not his habit to be at a loss for words, but he was just then. He tried to retain her hand, to put his arm about her. “Oh, Helen!” he cried. “You're wonderful! You're splendid! I'm crazy about you! I really am! I--” She pushed him gently away. “Don't! Please don't!” she said. “Oh, don't!” “But I must. Don't you see I. . . . Why, you're crying!” Her face had, for a moment, been upturned. The moon at that moment had slipped behind a cloud, but the lamplight from the window had shown him the tears in her eyes. He was amazed. He could have shouted, have laughed aloud from joy or triumphant exultation just then, but to weep! What occasion was there for tears, except on Ed Raymond's part? “You're crying!” he repeated. “Why, Helen--!” “Don't!” she said, again. “Oh, don't! Please don't talk that way.” “But don't you want me to, Helen? I--I want you to know how I feel. You don't understand. I--” “Hush! . . . Don't, Al, don't, please. Don't talk in that way. I don't want you to.” “But why not?” “Oh, because I don't. It's--it is foolish. You're only a boy, you know.” “A boy! I'm more than a year older than you are.” “Are you? Why yes, I suppose you are, really. But that doesn't make any difference. I guess girls are older than boys when they are our age, lots older.”