That night she pondered long. What could Allison want that she had not
given? The blood surged into her heart for an instant, then retreated.
"Nonsense," she said to herself in tremulous anger. "It's impossible!"

Afterward it seemed continually to happen that she was alone with
Allison when the time came to say good-night and drive home, or walk,
escorted by Colonel Kent or the Doctor. By common consent, they seemed
to make excuses to leave the room as the hour of departure approached,
and she always found it easier when someone was there.

Again, when she had made her adieux and had reached the door leading
into the hall, Allison called her back.

"Yes?" "Couldn't you--just once, you know--for good-night?" he asked,
with difficulty.

His face made his meaning clear. Rose bent, kissed him tenderly upon the
forehead, and quickly left the room. Her heart was beating so hard that
she did not know she stumbled upon the threshold, nor did she hear his
low: "Thank you--dear."

That night she could not sleep. "I can't," she said to herself,
miserably; "I can't possibly go on, if--Oh, why should he make it so
hard for me!"

If the future was to be possible on the lines already laid down, he,
too, must keep the impersonal attitude. Yet, none the less, she was
conscious of an uplifting joy that would not be put aside, but
insistently demanded its right of expression.