"And when you are married, there will probably be an altar from which you will turn to walk back up the aisle?" "Well?" said the girl. "Well," he answered explosively, "until you turn away from that altar, I do not recognize the right of any man to keep me quiet, or your right either. Why should I be held by your engagement? I was not consulted about it. I did not give my consent, did I? I tell you, you are the only woman in the world I will ever marry, and if you think I am going to keep silent and watch some one else carry you off without making a fight for you, you don't know me." "If you go on," said the girl, "it will mean that I shall not see you again." "Then I will write letters to you." "I will not read them," said the girl. The young man laughed defiantly. "Oh, yes, you will read them!" He pounded his gauntleted fist on the rim of the wheel. "You mayn't answer them, but if I can write the way I feel, I will bet you'll read them." His voice changed suddenly, and he began to plead. It was as though she were some masculine giant bullying a small boy. "You are not fair to me," he protested. "I do not ask you to be kind, I ask you to be fair. I am fighting for what means more to me than anything in this world, and you won't even listen. Why should I recognize any other men! All I recognize is that _I_ am the man who loves you, that 'I am the man at your feet.' That is all I know, that I love you." The girl moved as though with the cold, and turned her head from him. "I love you," repeated the young man. The girl breathed like one who has been swimming under water, but, when she spoke, her voice was calm and contained. "Please!" she begged, "don't you see how unfair it is. I can't go away; I HAVE to listen." The young man pulled himself upright, and pressed his lips together. "I beg your pardon," he whispered. There was for some time an unhappy silence, and then Winthrop added bitterly: "Methinks the punishment exceeds the offence." "Do you think you make it easy for ME?" returned the girl. She considered it most ungenerous of him to sit staring into the moonlight, looking so miserable that it made her heart ache to comfort him, and so extremely handsome that to do so was quite impossible. She would have liked to reach out her hand and lay it on his arm, and tell him she was sorry, but she could not. He should not have looked so unnecessarily handsome. Sam came running toward them with five grizzly bears, who balanced themselves apparently with some slight effort upon their hind legs. The grizzly bears were properly presented as: "Tommy Todd, of my class, and some more like him. And," continued Sam, "I am going to quit you two and go with them. Tom's car broke down, but Fred fixed it, and both our cars can travel together. Sort of convoy," he explained. His sister signalled eagerly, but with equal eagerness he retreated from her.