"I've a good mind to, whether or no."

"If you do I shall not see you--then or at any other time. But you
won't, will you?"

"No, Mary, I won't. It's mighty hard, though."

Perhaps it was quite as hard for her, but she did not reply.

"Will you write me--every day?" he went on. . . . "Why don't you
answer?"

"I was thinking what would be best for me to do," she said; "best for us
both, I mean. I shall write you one letter surely."

"ONE!"

"One surely. I want you to understand just what my coming here means and
what effect it may have upon my future. You should know that. Afterward,
whether I write you or not will depend."

"Depend! Of course you'll write me! Depend on what?"

"On what seems right to me after I have had time to think, and after you
have seen your father. I must go, Crawford. Thank you for calling me. I
am glad you did. Good-by."

"Wait! Mary, don't go! Let me say this--"

"Please, Crawford! I'd rather you wouldn't say any more. You understand