Barbara was thinking about Peg’s homely and comfortable philosophy as she laid the last neatly folded garment into the till of her trunk; and mingled with her dubious musings on the scope and nature of that mysteriously active power, known in current phrase as “Providence,” and as commonly reckoned hostile, in the world’s judgment, were thoughts of David. Not altogether happy were these uppermost reflections in Barbara’s mind, as evidenced by her brooding eyes and the downward droop of her red mouth. She loved David (she assured herself) yet she could not but be conscious of inward reserves, tremors, even resentments. She constantly caught herself explaining, excusing, defending him before the bar of that clear-eyed self which had never yet yielded to his hot kisses and close embraces. She loved him (she was sure) but she also pitied him, for his evident weaknesses, his frequent deflections from her own high ideals of manhood, for his multiplied offenses against her maiden modesty. Almost insensibly she had been forced into an attitude of watchfulness, guarding herself against his too ardent and careless approaches, soothing the gloom and irritation which alternated with not infrequent periods of coldness and neglect, when he chanced to be feeling sorry for himself, in view of what he was pleased to regard as the sacrifice of his future. David had not acquainted Barbara with the result of his latest interview with Jarvis. He hated Jarvis, and he took small pains to conceal the fact; but he jealously hid his unshaken conviction with regard to the money, which he had made up his mind Jarvis had given to Barbara. After a little he even concluded that it need not be repaid. “Miserly old crab,” he told himself. “It won’t hurt him to let Barbara have that much out of his pile.” Something of this thought colored his words when he discussed the question with Barbara. “You’ll marry me in November, won’t you?” he pleaded, “if the fellow doesn’t show up before then? We can pay him all right—if we have to.” “If we have to?” echoed Barbara, with a straight look at him. “Why do you say that?” “It’s a good bit of money—four thousand dollars. Perhaps some—er—philanthropical jay gave it to you outright, Barbie. I shouldn’t be so very much surprised.” He laughed at the proud curl of her lips. “You wouldn’t care, would you?” he persisted, “if some old duffer had taken it into his noddle to do a good deed? Once we are married, I shan’t bother to unearth him, you’d better believe. I’m in favor of letting sleeping philanthropists lie—eh, Barbie?” “We’ll not be married,” Barbara said, in a low voice, “till——” He caught her suddenly about the waist and stopped her words with one of his close kisses. “You shan’t say it,” he murmured, his lips still on hers. She twisted sharply out of his grasp, her face crimsoning slowly. “I wish—you wouldn’t, David.”