Anthony. There isn't any question between Anthony and me of--one woman
for one man. You know that, Elizabeth. But with Olaf--if he doesn't have
me, there will be no one else--ever. He--he will go sailing on--alone--"

"My dear, how do you know?"

She flung herself down beside me, a white rose, all fragrance. "I don't
know"--she began to cry. "How silly I am," she sobbed against my
shoulder. "I--I don't know anything about him, do I, Elizabeth--? But it
would be wonderful to be loved--like that."

All through the night she slept on my arm, with her hand curled in the
hollow of my neck as she had slept as a child. But I did not sleep. My
mind leaped forward into the future, and I saw my world without her.

* * * * *

Nancy stayed with me through September. Anthony's holiday was up the
day after the garden party, and he went back to Boston, keeping touch
with Nancy in the modern way by wire, special delivery, and
long-distance telephone.

It was on a stormy night with wind and beating rain that Nancy told me
Anthony was insisting that she marry him in December.

"But I can't, Elizabeth. I am going to write to him to-night."

"When will it be?"

"Who knows? I--I'm not ready. If he can't wait--he can let me go."