“No--I should not have come--except to find you.... Tell me, have you never been afraid of me--of what I would do?” “The first day--yes--I was terribly frightened when you came in and sat over there,” she moved her hand. “I wanted to scream out--to go to you and tell you what it meant, and beg you not to be angry.... I had never done anything without you before. I was like a child! Then you went out and I hurried home. I tore off the things. I did not mind your knowing. I only wanted you to understand. I was afraid you might not--understand.” “I didn’t--” “No--I know. But after a while--I knew you were trying to.... Then I knew that some day we should be here--together.” The little alcove seemed to expand and become a wide place--Eldridge caught a glimpse of something fine and sincere--it passed like a breath over her face and was gone. She lifted the face--“I have waited for it,” she said. “I have prayed for it every day, I think.” Her lips barely moved the words--“I did not want to feel alone here.” He pushed back the curtain and beckoned to the waiter. “We will drink to the day,” he said. Eldridge gave his order and looked on, smiling, while the waiter placed the slender-necked flask on the table and brought out the glasses and withdrew. They lifted the glasses. “To the day--you left me,” he said. “And to the day I followed you,” he added slowly. The glass paused in her hand. “That was the Symphony--?” “Yes--And to your anniversary!” She set down the glass. “I have not told you everything. It was not--my anniversary--made me come--to-day.” “No?” She shook her head. “I came--to meet--you!” she said. He looked at her slowly--“And when did you know that I would come?” he asked. “Last night--in the moonlight. I was so afraid you would speak there--in the moon! I did not want the moon to get in,” she said. “I wanted you to speak in real, plain daylight--and then, of course, you know, it’s Tom’s gown and not the moon. Everybody has the moon!” she laughed. “This is a very little place, this alcove,” said Eldridge. He was looking about him at the green walls of the alcove--thinking of the sun and the fields and of the road up through the hills---- “But it’s where I went berrying with Tom,” she laughed. He smiled at her. “Then it is as big as the world--and the sun and all the fields of the sun!” he said. Outside the curtain the music tinkled dimly, and there was a lower music still of all the glasses and words--and there was a silence in the alcove. “So there has never been any one--any one but me--” he said, “in your alcove!” He was looking at her hap-pily.