go on--that it had all been a mistake. She would say to him, she
had decided: "Martin, you are one of the kindest and best men,
and I could be happy with you if only you loved me, but you don't
really care for me and you never will. I feel it. Oh, I do! and I
could not bear it--to live with you day in and day out and know
that."

But she had reckoned without her own goodness of heart. On the
very evening on which she had quite determined to tell Martin
this decision he also had arrived at one. As soon as he had
entered Rose's little parlor he had exclaimed with an enthusiasm
unusual with him: "We broke the ground for your new garden,
today, Rose of Sharon, and Fletcher wants to see you. There are
some more little things you'll have to talk over with him. He
understands that you're the one I want suited."

Rose had felt suddenly reassured. Why, she had asked herself
contritely, couldn't she let Martin express his love in his own
way? Why was she always trying to measure his feelings for her by
set standards?

"I've been wondering," he had gone on quickly, "what you would
think of putting up with my old shack while the new house is
being built? It wouldn't be as if you were going to live there
for long and you'd be right on hand to direct things."

"Why, I could do that, of course," she had answered pleasantly.
"If you've lived there all these years, I surely ought to be able
to live there a few months, but Martin--"