Ben knew he could have stood up then and kissed her--if someone had not passed by in the street. Faith herself seemed not displeased by that intrusion of alien noise, only took her hands away and stood back smiling at him, the moment irretrievable. "I will come back." "Ben, I wish I had known you'd be here today. We have a guest arriving soon--I must dress, and aid Mama with a few things, and I cannot invite you to stay. I wish I might, but you understand--not my place to do so, and I dare say Mama would be upset." "Of course." "But you will come again--that is, if you wish to," she said, and laughed herself at the high absurdity of the notion that a time could ever come when he would not wish to see her. "Of course--whenever I may, Faith." "I do wish you might stay this evening, but--well, 'tis a----" she sighed in some private trouble or exasperation, moving her hands vaguely--"one of those occasions." Dimly frightened and not intending his own words, Ben asked: "Someone important?" Faith made a wry face. "_He_ would think so." Her hands sketched a wig on her head, and she strutted a little in mimicry of self-importance. "A man of substance, la. A little wintry in years to be sure. A merchant, a pillar of the church, and a--widower." "I see...." "Take care," she said with what might be a show of real anger, "that you do not see too much. He is a good man--I am sorry I was so naughty and forward as to make light of him. Good day, Mr. Cory!" Then in a lightning change at sight of his stricken face, Faith hurried to him and framed his face in her hands and whispered: "Did I not make you promise to come back? Oh, make your voyages--if you must. Make them for me, Ben, and forgive my cruelty!" "You----" Lightly and quickly, Faith kissed his lips. "Queer little scar," she said, and touched it with a finger tip, breathing hard. "Tell me of it some time. Why, I--Benjamin Cory, I would wait for you a thousand years." And she ran away across the garden, vanished utterly, in some place where Ben supposed there would be a door to safety. He passed through the gate in a golden haze. Molly was restless. She meant no disrespect, but sometimes found it humorous to fidget and dance ponderously at the moment he was lifting his foot for the stirrup. She did so now, perhaps in comment at the obvious remoteness of Ben's mortal mind. It had the effect of drawing him back to the present world, a few mild expletives quivering on the edge of utterance, when the brown girl Clarissa, returning from some bit of marketing with a parcel under her arm, observed his difficulty, set the parcel on the steps and came to him. "May I hold her for you, sir?"