"I suppose it is," said Peter, "but I love you and can't help telling
it. Why shouldn't one tell one's love as soon as one feels it? It's the
finest thing a man can tell a woman."

"Oh, please don't," begged Miss Pierce, her eyes full of tears in
sympathy for him. "You make it so hard for me to say that--that you
mustn't"

"I really didn't think you could care for me--as I cared for you,"
replied Peter, rather more to the voice than to the words of the last
speech. "Girls have never liked me."

Miss Pierce began to sob. "It's all a mistake. A dreadful mistake," she
cried, "and it is my fault."

"Don't say that," said Peter, "It's nothing but my blundering."

They walked on in silence to the Shrubberies, but as they came near to
the glare of the lighted doorway, Peter halted a moment.

"Do you think," he asked, "that it could ever be different?"

"No," replied Miss Pierce.

"Because, unless there is--is some one else," continued Peter, "I shall
not----"

"There is," interrupted Miss Pierce, the determination in Peter's voice
frightening her info disclosing her secret.