‘Do you remember when you made me promise I would never steal anything again?’ asks Crosby, after an eloquent pause. ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, I have broken that promise.’ ‘You haven’t, I hope.’ ‘I have, though. I’—with disgraceful triumph—‘have stolen your heart.’ ‘Not a bit of it,’ cries Susan, with a triumph that puts his to shame; ‘I gave it to you. Deny that if you dare.’ He evidently doesn’t dare. He does something else, however, that is quite as effective. ‘Well, it’s a month, any way, isn’t it?’ says he. ‘In a month we’ll get married, and we’ll go away—away, all by ourselves, Susan—just you and I, to the heavenly places of the earth. You shall see the world, and the world shall see you—the loveliest thing that is in it.’ ‘You mean that we shall go abroad?’ says Susan. ‘To Rome, perhaps?’ ‘To Rome or any other spot your fancy dictates, so long as you take me with you.’ He draws her to him as he says this, and—‘Susan, will you answer me one word?’ Susan’s clear, truthful eyes fasten upon his. ‘What is it?’ asks she softly. ‘Am I the one man in all the world you would see the world with?’ The clear truthful eyes do not falter. ‘Why do you ask me that?’ says she. ‘Surely you know it.’ * * * * * ‘Where is your father?’ asks he presently. ‘Let us go and tell him.’ ‘Tell father?’ Her tone has an ominous trembling in it. ‘Why, of course,’ says Crosby, regarding her with some surprise. It must be forgiven him if he thinks Mr. Barry will be decidedly glad to hear the news. ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ says Susan, growing quite pale. ‘He’ll be very angry with me. He will keep on thinking of me as a child, you know, and I can’t get him out of it. When I put on long frocks last year, I thought he’d see it then, but he didn’t; and even the doing up of my hair wasn’t of the slightest use.’ ‘We might give him a third lesson,’ says Crosby. ‘Come on, and let us get it over.’ ‘You’—Susan draws back, and her tone now is distinctly fearful—‘You couldn’t go without me, could you? By yourself, I mean.’ ‘I could, of course,’ says he. ‘But——’ ‘Oh, then, do,’ cries Susan, giving him a little push—there are unmistakable signs of cowardice about her. And all at once to Crosby comes the thought, how pure at heart all these people are—how ‘far from the madding crowd’ of self-seekers! She has not realized that he is what most of his town acquaintances call a ‘good match.’ She is even afraid to announce her engagement to her father, lest he should think her too young to marry. It sounds incredible, but a glance at Susan, and a vision of the sad man sitting alone with his new sorrow and disappointment in his little study beyond, dissolves all suspicions. ‘Yes—do go,’ says Susan. ‘To tell you the truth, father is in rather a disturbed state of mind just now, and I’m afraid he won’t receive you very well. He may be grumpy. He is unhappy. He has lost a great deal of money lately.’ ‘A great deal?’