him. "Clara, if you can say, I do not love you as a woman ought to
love her husband, I will promise you, on my honor, never to mention
the subject to you again. Can you say it?"

She tried to turn her head and to hide the tell-tale color in her
cheeks, but he would not permit it. "Answer me," he insisted. "Say you
do not love me and I will never bother you again."

At last the eyes were lifted, and in their light George read his answer.
"All right," he said, picking up the whip, "I knew you could not lie;
you do love me, and I'll never stop asking you to be my wife." He
turned the horse's head toward the city.

That same evening, Adam Goodrich, with his family and two or three
neighbors, sat on the veranda of the Goodrich home, enjoying the
beauties of the hour, and passing the evening in social chat. In the
course of the conversation, someone mentioned the rooms at the Jerusalem
Church. Adam grunted. "What a splendid thing it is for the young men,"
said one of the lady callers. "I don't see why more of the churches
don't adopt the plan. I wish ours would."

"Yes," chimed in another, "and isn't that Mr. Falkner, who has charge
of the rooms in the evening, a splendid fellow? My brother speaks of
him so highly, and all the young men seem to think so much of him."

"Where is he from; St. Louis, is it?" asked the first lady.

"Kansas City," said Frank. "At least that's what _he_ says. He bummed
his way into town last spring and got a job in that infidel Udell's
printing office. That's all anybody knows of him."