morning into the forest. I went alone; it was a lovely day, and I took a
long walk."

"It was a lovely day," she said absently, and sat with her eyes lowered,
slowly opening and closing her fan. Longmore, as he watched her, felt
more and more assured her sister-in-law had seen her since her interview
with him; that her attitude toward him was changed. It was this same
something that hampered the desire with which he had come, or at least
converted all his imagined freedom of speech about it to a final hush of
wonder. No, certainly, he couldn't clasp her to his arms now, any more
than some antique worshipper could have clasped the marble statue in his
temple. But Longmore's statue spoke at last with a full human voice and
even with a shade of human hesitation. She looked up, and it seemed to
him her eyes shone through the dusk.

"I'm very glad you came this evening--and I've a particular reason for
being glad. I half-expected you, and yet I thought it possible you
mightn't come."

"As the case has been present to me," Longmore answered, "it was
impossible I shouldn't come. I've spent every minute of the day in
thinking of you."

She made no immediate reply, but continued to open and close her fan
thoughtfully. At last, "I've something important to say to you," she
resumed with decision. "I want you to know to a certainty that I've a
very high opinion of you." Longmore gave an uneasy shift to his
position. To what was she coming? But he said nothing, and she went on:
"I take a great interest in you. There's no reason why I shouldn't say
it. I feel a great friendship for you." He began to laugh, all