of a beginning.

"What is that?" I asked.

"It is a woman who confuses one's thoughts when one looks at her. I do not
now seem to have anything to say, or too much----"

"You called me a child."

"I should have called you an enigma."

I assured him I was not the least complex, and that I only wanted
everything simple, and to be left in peace, without having to get married
or worry to obey people.

We had a nice talk.

"You won't leave here on Saturday," he said, presently, apropos of
nothing. "I do not think I shall go myself to-morrow. I want you to show
me all over the gardens, and your favorite haunts."

"To-morrow I shall be busy packing," I said, gravely, "and I do not think
I want to show you the gardens; there are some corners I rather loved; I
believe it will hurt a little to say good-bye."

Just then Mr. Barton came into the room, fussy and ill at ease. Mr.
Carruthers's face hardened again, and I rose to say good-night.

As he opened the door for me--"Promise you will come down to give me my
coffee in the morning," he said.