was strangely possessed, too, of an instinctive certainty that Betty Jo
knew exactly how he felt and exactly what she was doing.

While he was thinking these things, or, rather, feeling them, Betty Jo
went to see how the manuscript was drying. She returned to her seat on
the rock presently, saying: "It is doing very nicely,--almost dry. I
think it will be done pretty soon. In the meantime, what are we going
to do about everything? You have thought of something for you to do, of
course!"

"I fear I have felt rather more than I have thought," returned Brian.

She nodded. "Yes, I know; but feeling alone never arrives anywhere. An
excess of thoughtless feeling is sheer emotional extravagance. I sound
like a book, don't I?" she laughed. "It is so just the same, Mr.
Burns. And now that you have--ah--been properly--not to say
gloriously--extravagant at poor Judy's expense, we had better do a
little thinking, don't you think?"

The man's cheeks reddened at her words; but the straightforward,
downright sincerity of those gray eyes, that looked so frankly into
his, held him steady; while the interrogation at the end of her remark
carried its usual conviction.

"There is only one possible thing left for me to do, Miss Williams," he
said earnestly.

"And what is that?" A smile that sent a glow of courage to Brian Kent's
troubled heart accompanied the flat question.