He had not thought of going out before. The question, and the manner of
it, gave immediate urgency to the idea of going somewhere. "I may or I
may not," he replied. "It is quite impossible for me to say." He turned
on his heel with this, and walked briskly out of the yard and down the
street.

It was the most natural thing that presently he should be strolling past
the Madden house, and letting a covert glance stray over its front and
the grounds about it, as he loitered along. Every day since his return
from the woods he had given the fates this chance of bringing Celia
to meet him, without avail. He had hung about in the vicinity of the
Catholic church on several evenings as well, but to no purpose. The
organ inside was dumb, and he could detect no signs of Celia's presence
on the curtains of the pastorate next door. This day, too, there was
no one visible at the home of the Maddens, and he walked on, a little
sadly. It was weary work waiting for the signal that never came.

But there were compensations. His mind reverted doggedly to the flowers
in his garden, and to Alice's behavior toward him. They insisted upon
connecting themselves in his thoughts. Why should Levi Gorringe, a
money-lender, and therefore the last man in the world to incur reckless
expenditure, go and buy perhaps a hundred dollars, worth of flowers for
his wife's garden? It was time--high time--to face this question. And
his experiencing religion afterward, just when Alice did, and marching
down to the rail to kneel beside her--that was a thing to be thought of,
too.

Meditation, it is true, hardly threw fresh light upon the matter. It
was incredible, of course, that there should be anything wrong. To even
shape a thought of Alice in connection with gallantry would be wholly