slowly laid himself beside her. He said nothing, but lost himself
in a flood of ceaseless ponderings. After stretching some of the
tiredness out of his throbbing muscles, he relaxed and lay
quietly, trying to recall exactly what he had said. Did his wife
suspect that there might be no truth in the remark that Rose
would never know how he felt toward her? At moments he felt that
the girl already divined it, again he was not so sure. It was
hard to be certain, but the more he thought about it the more
hope he began to feel that she would yet be wholly his. Her
admiration and trust belonged to him now, but there might be
moral scruples which he would have to overcome. There would be
the difficulty of convincing her that she would be doing her aunt
no wrong. She would gain courage, however, from his own
heedlessness. That same daring which he had just shown with the
older Rose and which had impressed her into silence would
eventually move his flower to him. He had thrown down the bars.
Secrecy was now out of the question and it was well that he was
moving thus in the open. Rose might shrink at first from the
plain-spokenness of the situation, but this phase would soon pass
and then the fact that she knew he was not hiding his love for
her even from his wife would make it far easier to press his suit
and possibly to bring it to a swift consummation.

He must win her! He must. He had been mad to admit to himself,
much less to his Rag-weed, that there was any doubt of this
outcome. It might take a few more days, a week, not longer than
that. But what should he do when Rose gave the message to him?
Could he go away with her? This bothered him for a while. Of
course, he would have to. He could not send his wife away. The
community would not tolerate this. Martin knew his neighbors. He