up?"

Howard reddened, angry with himself for reddening, angry with the
_Sun_ man for his impudence, ashamed that he had put himself and Alice
in such a position. But the incident brought the matter of his relation
with her sharply and clearly before his mind and conscience.

"This must stop," he said to himself; "it must stop at once. It is unjust
to her. And it is dragging me into an entanglement."

But the mischief had been done. She loved him. And with the confidence of
youth and inexperience, she was disregarding all the obstacles, was giving
herself up to the dream that he would presently love her in return, with
the end as in the story books. Indeed love stories became her constant
companions. Where she once read them for amusement, she now read them as a
Christian reads his Bible--for instruction, inspiration, faith, hope and
courage.

One evening in July--it was in the week of Independence Day--Howard's
windows and door were thrown wide to get the full benefit of whatever stir
there might be in the air. He was sprawled upon the lounge, the table drawn
close and upon it a lamp shedding a dim light through the room but enough
near by to let him read. He had dropped his book and was thinking whether a
stroll in the Square in the moonlight would repay the trouble of moving.
There were steps in the hall and then, peeping round the door-frame was the
face of his young neighbour.

"Hello," he said, "I thought you were out somewhere. Come in."

"No, I'm going to bed," she answered, nevertheless gradually edging into