"You're a dear old Sphinx," she retorted.

"Listen, Carley," he said, earnestly. "About this love-making stuff. Please
don't misunderstand me. I love you. I'm starved for your kisses. But--is it
right to ask them?"

"Right! Aren't we engaged? And don't I want to give them?"

"If I were only sure we'd be married!" he said, in low, tense voice, as if
speaking more to himself.

"Married!" cried Carley, convulsively clasping him. "Of course we'll be
married. Glenn, you wouldn't jilt me?"

"Carley, what I mean is that you might never really marry me," he answered,
seriously.

"Oh, if that's all you need be sure of, Glenn Kilbourne, you may begin to
make love to me now."


It was late when Carley went up to her room. And she was in such a softened
mood, so happy and excited and yet disturbed in mind, that the coldness and
the darkness did not matter in the least. She undressed in pitchy
blackness, stumbling over chair and bed, feeling for what she needed. And
in her mood this unusual proceeding was fun. When ready for bed she opened
the door to take a peep out. Through the dense blackness the waterfall
showed dimly opaque. Carley felt a soft mist wet her face. The low roar of
the falling water seemed to envelop her. Under the cliff wall brooded
impenetrable gloom. But out above the treetops shone great stars,