The scent¹ of the pines was heavy in the languid air. Bright sunshine fell upon the grass, and the drowsy² stillness was scarcely broken by the splash of ripples³ on the beach. Aynsley, now fast recovering, lay in a couch hammock where a patch of shadow checkered⁴ the smooth expanse of Osborne’s lawn. His face was thin, and his eyes were half closed, though he was by no means asleep. The glare tired him, but his mind was busy and he was tormented⁵ by doubts.  
Ruth sat near him with a book, from which she had been reading aloud. Her thin summer dress clung in graceful⁶ lines to her finely molded figure; the large hat cut off the light from her face, which was quietly serious, and there was a delicacy⁷ in its coloring and a curious liquid glow in her eyes.
 
Aynsley was not an artist, but the picture she made filled him with a sense of harmonious⁸ beauty. There was a repose⁹ about the girl which generally had its effect on him; but as he watched her Aynsley felt the hard throbbing¹⁰ of his heart. He had admired her greatly since they first met, and it was now some time since appreciation¹¹ had grown into love; but the man was shrewd in some respects, and had seen that her inclination¹² was not toward him. She was too friendly, too frankly¹³ gracious; he would rather have noticed some shy reserve. He had waited with strong patience, until her tender care of him in his illness had given him a vague hope. He feared it might prove illusory, but he could keep his secret no longer, and summoned courage to test his fortune.
 
“Ruth,” he said, “I’ll have to get back to the mill next week. Though it has been very pleasant, I’ve been loafing long enough.”
 
She looked up abruptly¹⁴, for her thoughts had been far away and he had held no place in them.
 
“I suppose you must go when you are strong enough,” she answered rather absently. “Still, you have not recovered, and perhaps they can get on without you.”
 
This was not encouraging. Her tone was kind, but she had shown no anxiety to detain him, and if she had wished to do so it would have been easy to give him a hint. For all that, he must learn his fate.
 
“It’s possible; in fact, I’ve a suspicion that they get on better when I’m away; but that is not the point. I’ve been here some time, and have made a good many demands on you. Now that you have cured me, I have no excuse for abusing your good nature.”
 
“You’re not abusing it,” she responded in a friendly tone. “Besides, if you need the assurance, I enjoyed taking care of you. Though the nurses really did the work, it’s nice to feel oneself useful.”
 
Though she smiled he was not much cheered. The care she had given him was, in a sense, impersonal¹⁵: she would have been as compassionate¹⁶ to a stranger.
 
“I can understand,” he said. “You are full of kindness, and must, so to speak, radiate it. It’s a positive relief to you. Anyway, that’s fortunate for me, because I shouldn’t have been lying here, almost fit now, if you hadn’t taken me in hand.”
 
“That’s exaggeration,” she replied with a faint blush, which he seized upon as the first favorable sign.
 
“Not at all,” he declared firmly. “You saved my life; I knew it when I wakened up the morning the fever left me, and the doctor practically admitted it when I asked him.” He paused and gave her a steady look, though his heart was beating fast. “And since you saved it, my life belongs to you. It’s a responsibility you have incurred¹⁷. Anyway, the life you gave me back when I’d nearly lost it is a poor thing, and not much use to me unless I can persuade you to share it. Perhaps, in good hands, it’s capable of improvement.”
 
Ruth was moved. She saw the deep trust and the longing¹⁸ in his eyes, and he had spoken with a touch of humor, which, she thought, was brave because it covered his want of hope. She could not doubt his love, and she knew it was worth much. The knowledge brought the color to her face and disturbed her.
 
“Aynsley,” she said, “I’m sorry, but—”
 
He made a protesting gesture.
 
“Wait a minute! You did not know that I loved you. I read that in your friendly candor¹⁹. I felt that I was aiming too high but I couldn’t give up the hope of winning you some day, and I meant to be patient. Now I expect you have got a painful shock; but I’m going away next week—and I was swept off my feet.”
 
“It isn’t a shock,” she answered with a smile that hid some confusion. “You’re too modest, Aynsley; any sensible girl would feel proud of your offer. But, for all that, I’m afraid—”
 
“Please think it over,” he begged. “Though I’m by no means what you have a right to expect, there’s this in my favor that, so far as I’m capable of it, you can make what you like of me. Then I’m starting on a new career, and there’s nobody who could help me along like you.”
 
Ruth was silent for a few moments, lost in disturbing thought. She knew his virtues²⁰ and his failings, and she trusted him. Now she realized with a sense of guilt²¹ that she had not been quite blameless. She had seen his love for her, and, while she had never led him on, she might have checked him earlier; she could not be sure that she had altogether wished to do so. She was fond of him; indeed, she was willing to love him, but somehow was unable to do so.
 
“Aynsley,” she said, “I’m more sorry than I can tell you; but you really must put me out of your mind.”
 
“It’s going to be difficult,” he answered grimly. “But I believe you like me a little?”
 
“I think the trouble is that I like you too much—but not in the way that you wish.”
 
“I understand. I’ve been too much of a comrade. But if I were very patient, you might, perhaps, get to like me in the other way?”
 
“It would be too great a risk, Aynsley.”
 
“I’ll take it and never blame you if you find the thing too hard.” The eagerness suddenly died out of his voice. “But that would be very rough on you—to be tied to a man—” He broke off and was silent for a moment before he looked up at her with grave tenderness. “Ruth dear, is it quite hopeless?”
 
“I’m afraid so,” she said softly, but with a note in her voice which Aynsley could not misinterpret.
 
“Very well,” he acquiesced²² bravely. “I have to fight this thing, but you shall have no trouble on my account. I find the light rather str............