following Sunday. When the day came Olivia was not well; Pierson
went to a poker game at his fraternity house; Pauline and
Scarborough walked alone. As she went through the woods beside
him she was thinking so intensely that she could not talk. But
he was not disturbed by her silence--was it not enough to be near
her, alone with her, free to look at her, so graceful and
beautiful, so tasteful in dress, in every outward way what he
thought a woman ought to be? Presently she roused herself and
began a remark that was obviously mere politeness.

He interrupted her. "Don't mind me. Go on with your
thinking--unless it's something you can say."

She gave him a quizzical, baffling smile. "How it would startle
you if I did!" she said. "But--I shan't. And"--she frowned
impatiently--"there's no use in thinking about it. It's all in
the future."

"And one can't control the future."

"Yes, indeed--one can," she protested.

"I wish you'd tell me how. Are you sure you don't mean you
could so arrange matters that the future would control you?
Anybody can SURRENDER to the future and give it hostages. But
that's not controlling, is it?"

"Certainly it is--if you give the hostages in exchange for what
you want." And she looked triumphant.