"No, no, Miss Rebecca, it's too high for you!" cried Max; "let me
hand it down to you." And as he said so he laid his hand upon hers.

Rebecca hastily drew back her hand. She knew that her face had
flushed, and she almost felt as if she must burst into tears.

Then he said, softly and earnestly, lowering his eyes, "Pray,
pardon me, Miss Rebecca. I feel that my behavior must seem far too
light and frivolous to such a woman as you; but I should be sorry
that you should think of me as nothing but the empty coxcomb I
appear to be. Merriment, to many people, is merely a cloak for
their sufferings, and there are some who laugh only that they may
not weep."

At the last words he looked up. There was something so mournful,
and at the same time so reverential, in his glance, that Rebecca
all of a sudden felt as if she had been unkind to him. She was
accustomed to reach things down from the upper shelf, but when she
again stretched out her hands for the basin of milk, she let her
arms drop, and said, "No, perhaps it _is_ too high for me, after
all."

A faint smile passed over his face as he took the basin and carried
it carefully out; she accompanied him and opened the doors for him.
Every time he passed her she looked closely at him. His collar, his
necktie, his coat--everything was different from her father's, and
he carried with him a peculiar perfume which she did not know.

When they came to the garden door, he stopped for an instant, and