“Don’t think of it again,” said he, with a careless wave of one of his long brushes. It was no new experience to find that people supposed to be rich were merely struggling along on the edge of the precipice of poverty. Poor child, making one of those hideous sacrifices on the altar of snobbishness!--or, rather, being sacrificed, for she was too young to realize to the full what she was doing. Still, Peter Vanderkief did not size up so badly, as husband material went. Silence for several minutes; she, seated again and studying his strong, handsome face with its intent, absorbed expression--concentrated, powerful. She did not venture to speak until he happened to glance at her with an absent smile. Then she inquired sweetly: “May I ask you something?” “Go ahead.” “Won’t you please come to dinner to-morrow night? That’s what mother’s note’s about. It would be a great favor to me. It would straighten everything out. You won’t have to do any further deceiving.” He went on with his work. After a while he asked: “Does your Peter think you love him?” The color mounted in her cheeks. But it was in the accents of truth that she replied: “He knows I don’t.” “And if I came I’d not be helping to deceive him as to what you think of him?” “No--on my honor.” He looked at her. “No’s quite enough,” said he, in a tone that made her thrill with pride. “I think you are truthful.” “And I am--with you,” said she, her expression at its very best. “I’d be ashamed to lie to you. Not that I’ve always been quite--quite--painfully _accurate_----” “I understand. You and I mean the same thing when we say truthful.” “Will you come?” “Yes. Where do you live?” She laughed. “Why, we’re _the_ Richmonds. Didn’t you guess?” She nodded as if a mystery had been cleared up for her. “Oh, I understand now why you’ve acted so differently from what I thought you would when you found out.” He smiled faintly. “I suppose I ought to know. But I’m a stranger here. When I was here as a boy the city lawyers and merchants hadn’t got the habit of coming up and taking farmhouses for the summer. Are you boarding or have you a place of your own?” She had got very red and was hanging her head. Evidently she was suffering keenly from embarrassment. “What’s the matter, Rix?” “I--I rather thought--after yesterday--you sort of--understood about us,” she stammered. He laughed encouragingly. “Good Lord, don’t be a snob,” cried he. “What do I care about where you live? I don’t select my acquaintances by what’s in their pockets, but by what’s in their heads. A while ago you said you were rich--and then you said you weren’t----” “Oh, I’m all upset,” interrupted she. “Don’t mind the way I act. We live on Red Hill. The house up there belongs to father.”