"Because I tell you that you are trusting me too much." "Go on," he said. She had covered her face with her hands, and held them so for a little while, then she let them fall slowly to her lap. "If I tell you the truth," she said, "it will not be my fault if you still trust me too much. I don't want it to be my fault. The worst of me is, that I am neither bad nor good, and that I cannot live without excitement. I am always changing and trying experiments. When one experiment fails, I try another. They all fail after a while, or I get tired of them." "Poor child!" he said. She stirred slightly; one of the flowers fell from her belt upon her lap, and she let it lie there. "It does not matter," she answered. "All that matters is, that you should know the truth about me,--that I am not to be depended upon, and that, above all, you need not be surprised at any change you see in me." "When we meet again in Washington?" he suggested. She hesitated a moment and then made her response. "When we meet again in Washington, or at any time." "Are you warning me?" he inquired. "Yes," was her reply, and he recognized that in spite of her effort it was faintly given. "I am warning you." He looked down at the grass and then at her. The determined squareness of chin, which was one of the chief characteristics of his face, struck her as being more marked than she had ever seen it. "It is unnecessary," he said. "I won't profit by it." He rose abruptly from his seat, and there was meaning in the movement, and in his eyes looking down upon her deep and dark in the faint light. "You cannot change _me_," he said. "And you would have to change me before your warning would carry weight. Change yourself as you like--try as many experiments as you like--you cannot change the last ten days." Even as the words were uttered, the day was ended for them as they had never once thought of its ending. There fell upon the quiet the sound of horses' feet approaching at a rapid pace and coming to a stop before the gate. The dogs came bounding and baying from the house, and above their deep-mouthed barking a voice made itself heard, calling to some one to come out,--a voice they both knew. Tredennis turned toward it with a sharp movement. "Do you hear that?" he exclaimed. "Yes," said Bertha; and suddenly her manner was calm almost to coldness,--"it is Laurence Arbuthnot, and papa is with him. Let us go and meet them." And in a few seconds they were at the gate, and the professor was explaining their unexpected appearance. "It is all Mr. Arbuthnot's fault, my dear," he said; "he knew that I wished to see you, and, having an idea that I was not strong enough to make the journey alone, he suddenly affected to have business in this vicinity. It was entirely untrue, and I was not in the least deceived; but I humored him, as I begin to find it best to do, and allowed him to bring me to you."