Tom had grown restless waiting for Helen to emerge from the interminable interview with his father. A half dozen times he had walked past the library door only to hear the low hum of their voices still talking.

"What on earth is it all about, I wonder?" he muttered. "Must be telling her the story of his whole life!"

He had asked her to meet him in the old rose garden when she came out. For the dozenth time he strolled in and sat down on their favorite rustic. He could neither sit still nor content himself with wandering.

"What the devil\'s the matter with me anyhow?" he said aloud. "The next thing I\'ll be thinking I\'m in love—good joke—bah!"

Helen was not the ideal he had dreamed. She had simply brought a sweet companionship into his life—that was all. She was a good fellow. She could walk, ride, run and hold her own at any game he liked to play. He had walked with her over miles of hills and valleys stretching in every direction about town. He had never grown tired of these walks. He didn\'t have to entertain her. They were silent often for a long time. They sat down beside the roadway, laughed and talked[Pg 320] like chums with never a thought of entertaining each other.

In the long rides they had taken in the afternoons and sometimes late in the starlight or moonlight, she had never grown silly, sentimental or tiresome. A restful and home-like feeling always filled him when she was by his side. He hadn\'t thought her very beautiful at first, but the longer he knew her the more charming and irresistible her companionship became.

"Her figure\'s a little too full for the finest type of beauty!" he was saying to himself now. "Her arms are splendid, but the least bit too big, and her face sometimes looks too strong for a girl\'s! It\'s a pity. Still, by geeminy, when she smiles she is beautiful! Her face seems to fairly blossom with funny little dimples—and that one on the chin is awfully pretty! She just misses by a hair being a stunningly beautiful girl!"

He flicked a fly from his boot with a switch he was carrying and glanced anxiously toward the house. "And I must say," he acknowledged judicially, "that she has a bright mind, her tastes are fine, her ideals high. She isn\'t all the time worrying over balls and dresses and beaux like a lot of silly girls I know. She\'s got too much sense for that. The fact is, she has a brilliant mind."

Now that he came to think of it, she had a mind of rare brilliance. Everything she said seemed to sparkle. He didn\'t stop to ask the reason why, he simply knew that it was so. If she spoke about the weather, her words never seemed trivial.

He rose scowling and walked back to the house.

"What on earth can they be talking about all this[Pg 321] time?" he cried angrily. Just then his father\'s tall figure stepped out on the porch, walked its length and entered the sitting-room by one of the French windows.

He sprang up the steps, thrust his head into the hall, and softly whistled. He waited a moment, there was no response, and he repeated the call. Still receiving no answer, he entered cautiously:

"Miss Helen!"

He tipped to the library door and called again:

"Miss Helen!"

Surprised that she could have gone so quickly he rushed into the room, glanced hastily around, crossed to the window, looked out on the porch, heard the rustle of a skirt and turned in time to see her flying to escape.

With a quick dash he headed her off.

Hiding her face she turned and ran the other way for the door through which he had entered.

With a laugh and a swift leap Tom caught her arms.

"Lord, you\'re a sprinter!" he cried breathlessly. "But I\'ve got you now!" he laughed, holding her pinioned arms tightly.

Helen lifted her tear-stained face:

"Please——"

Tom drew her gently around and looked into her eyes:

"Why—what on earth—you\'re crying!"

She tried to draw away but he held her hand firmly:

"What is it? What\'s happened? What\'s the matter?"

His questions were fired at her with lightning rapidity.[Pg 322]

The girl dropped forlornly on the lounge and turned her face away:

"Please go!"

"I won\'t go—I won\'t!" he answered firmly as he bent closer.

"Please—please!"

"Tell me what it is?"

Helen held her face resolutely from him.

"Tell me," he urged tenderly.

"I can\'t!"

She threw herself prostrate and broke into sobs.

The boy wrung his hands helplessly, started to put his arm around her, caught himself in time and drew back with a start. At last he burst out passionately:

"Don\'t—don\'t! For heaven\'s sake don\'t! It hurts me more than it does you—I don\'t know what it is but it hurts—it hurts inside and it hurts deep—please!"

Without lifting her head Helen cried:

"I don\'t want to live any more!"

"Oh, is that all?" Tom laughed. "I see, you\'ve stubbed your toe and don\'t want to live any more!"

"I mean it!" she broke in desperately.

"Good joke!" he cried again, laughing. "You don\'t want to live any more! Twenty years old and every line of your graceful, young form quivering with the joy of life—you—you don\'t want to live! That\'s great!"

The girl lifted her dimmed eyes, looked at him a moment, and spoke the thought that had poisoned her soul—spoke it in hard, bitter accents with a touch of self-loathing:

"I\'ve just learned that my birth is shadowed by disgrace!"[Pg 323]

"Well, what have you to do with that?" he asked quickly. "Your whole being shines with truth and purity. What\'s an accident of birth? You couldn\'t choose your parents, could you? You\'re a nameless orphan and my father is the attorney of an old fool guardian who lives somewhere in Europe. All right! The worst thing your worst enemy could say is that you\'re a child of love—a great love that leaped all bounds and defied the law—a love that was madness and staked all life on the issue! That means you\'re a child of the gods. Some of the greatest men and women of the world were born like that. Your own eyes are clear. There\'s no cloud on your beautiful soul——"

Tom paused and Helen lifted her face in rapt attention. The boy suddenly leaped to his feet, turned away and spoke in ecstatic whispers:

"Good Lord—listen at me—why—I\'m making love—great Scott—I\'m in love! The big thing has happened—to me—to me! I feel the thrill of it—the thing that transforms the world—why—it\'s like getting religion!"

He strode back and forth in a frenzy of absurd happiness.

Helen, smiling through her tears, asked:

"What are you saying? What are you talking about?"

With a cry of joy he was at her side, her hand tight gripped in his:

"Why, that I\'m in love, my own—that I love you, my glorious little girl! I didn\'t realize it until I ............