sat upon his knee, and searching her face with his strong brown eyes.
Milly's glance drooped.

"Don't ask me, John," she responded, putting her hand against his
cheek, wistfully. "Don't you see I couldn't tell you without letting
you know what is in the paper, and that is precisely the thing I
promised not to do."

There are few men in whom a woman's open refusal to yield a point, no
matter how trifling, does not arouse a tyrannous masculine impulse to
compel obedience. Stanton had really no great curiosity about the
secret, whatever it might be, but he instinctively felt that it was
right to demand the telling because his betrothed refused to speak. His
face grew more grave. The hands upon Milly's shoulders unconsciously
tightened their hold. The girl intuitively felt that a struggle was
coming, although even yet the signs were hardly tangible. She grew a
little paler, putting her hand beneath her lover's bearded chin, and
holding his face up so that she could look straight into his fearless,
honest eyes.

"Dear John," she said, wistfully, "you know I never have a secret of my
own that I keep from you in all the world."

"But why," demanded he, "can it do any harm for you to give me some
reason why you ever thought of telling me this; and just at a time,
too, when we were talking of business."

"Because," she answered, thoughtlessly, "it was about business."

A new light came into Stanton's face. His lips subtly changed their