would consent to go, but he shook the thought of it all off him on this
the first morning of his plighted faith with Blanche. It would be
unpleasant, but imperative, and how well worth it!... Meanwhile, there
was love to be enjoyed, every moment of it--love that was still to him
such a shy and delicate thing that he hardly dared to breathe upon it
for fear of ruffling in some clumsy way Blanche's fine susceptibilities.
She must have had so much to suffer from undue approaches in her battle
with the world; not from him should such tarnishing come.

He sent a note down to her at Mrs. Penticost's to tell her again, in his
morning greeting, of his love and to advise her of the mock-business of
the day. Blanche was still in bed when it arrived, and Judith, looking
more like a handsome monkey than ever in a faded red Garibaldi, took it
in to her.

Judith still admired Blanche above all women, although she saw her as
now with a creamed face and hair that resembled a row of little slugs
disposed about her brow. Blanche rose above all this as she managed to
rise above an inauspicious background, and the lazy stretch she gave
beneath the sheet that was all that covered her, bringing out two white
arms above her head so that the muscles swelled under the tight skin,
was so lovely in its feline grace as to triumph over anything else.

"Here's a note for you; I think it's from Mr. Ruan," said Judith. "Mrs.
Penticost said she thought it was." Judy did not add that Mrs.
Penticost's precise method of giving the information had been to snort
out: "T'young maister can't live through the night wethout writing to
she, simminly.... Poor sawl!"

Blanche read the little note through twice, a smile on her face, then