was approaching, I felt, the crisis of my life, the outcome of which
must mean everything to both of us.

"You are very silent, Mike," she said in a low, and, as I thought,
rather strained voice. "Is anything the matter?"

I swallowed before answering.

"Yes--something is the matter," I said limply.

"What?"

I caught my breath. How could she look into my eyes like that, ask that
question--such a foolish question it seemed--as though I were naught to
her but a stranger, or, at most, some merely casual acquaintance? Was it
possible she realized nothing, suspected nothing, had no faint idea of
the feeling I entertained for her?

"What is the matter?" she asked again, as I had not answered.

"Oh, it's something--well, something I can't well explain to you under
the circumstances," I replied awkwardly, an anxious, hot feeling
coming over me.

"Under what circumstances?"

"What circumstances!"

"Yes."