Flossie good-bye that night, was a sense of a broader view of
human life, for his experience had given him a sense of its real
ness and its earnestness.
The sad expression in Flossie's face as she greeted him only
made her more beautiful, for it was the evidence of that indescrib
able something in a woman's heart which adds the finest touch to
her beauty of face and character. They talked in as pleasant and
careless a manner as they could command, carefully avoiding any
allusion to the vital subject of which both were constantly think
ing, until Harold arose to go. This was the hardest moment of
all. Yes, he would show her Tom's letter,*perhaps she would
understand him better then.
• " Flossie, perhaps I have not been manly," he said as he gave
it to her; " perhaps you do not respect me as you did before,
but "—and the passionate words forced themselves from his lips—
" but it is because I love you so. You are everything to me, and
I shall never love any other woman."
Just at this moment she finished those first lines. Her face
flushed, then turned pale, and with a little scream she turned and
ran up stairs to her room. Harold stared after her in bewilder
ment, and then, as unconscious of his actions as she had been, he
went out and began pacing the veranda, animated by a fever of
hope and fear.
Flossie had hastened to her room to still her throbbing heart
from the agitation which those words had produced. She must
be calm before she spoke to him again. She went to her desk
and reread Elmer Mason's urgent entreaty. Then she tore open
a sealed and addressed letter, and read: " Dear Elmer, I do not
feel that I love you as a husband should be loved; but
a moment she hesitated, then tore the letter into shreds. A flood
of tears gushed down her fair cheeks. The tide of resistance was
past and love had conquered.
Harold Brown was pacing the veranda with nervous anxiety.
What could Flossie's actions mean. The hope which a few min
utes before had been so low, came back like a wave, and every
moment strengthened it.
" Whatever her answer be, I'm going to make something of my
self. It's not brains that makes a man, it's work; and I'm going
to work. But if Flossie—"
He had not heard the gentle step, he did not feel the soft hand
on his arm, but he heard a sweet voice: "Harold ?"
The Free Lance.
CjuNE,