"You don't mean that!" she exclaimed. "You must take that back, George.
I'll speak to pappa; he'll mind me."

"No," he replied firmly; "speaking won't do any good. I've made up my
mind. It's impossible for me to stay here."

"Then you don't care for me. But that's not so. Say it's not so, George.
Say you'll stay--and I'll come down this evening after the old folks
have gone to bed, and sit with you. There!"

Of course the man yielded to a certain extent, the pleading face
upturned to his was too seductive to be denied, but he would not promise
more than that he would tell her what had taken place, and consult with
her.

Shortly after nine o'clock, as usual, Mr. and Mrs. Conklin retired. Half
an hour later Bancroft and Loo were seated together in the corner of the
back stoop. They sat like lovers, his arm about her waist, while he told
his story. She expressed relief; she had feared it would be much worse;
he had only to say he didn't mean anythin', and she'd persuade her
father to forget and forgive. But the schoolmaster would not consent to
that. He had meant and did mean every word, and could take back nothing.
And when she appealed to his affection, he could only repeat that he'd
think it over. "You know I like you, Loo, but I can't do
impossibilities. It's unfortunate, perhaps, but it's done and can't be
undone." And then, annoyed at being pressed further, he thought they had
better go in: it was very cold; she'd catch a chill if she stayed
longer, and there was no sense in that. The girl, seeing that her
pleading was of no avail, grew angry; his love was good enough to talk
about, but it could not be worth much if he denied her so little a