nous silence, and became heavier, until he saw the
ranch loom up ahead. Then he felt his mistress
urge him into a canter that she might join the
others for the parting. But when the party broke
up, as it did with much good feeling, and he found
himself turned loose to one side, with his mistress
and the young man walking into the shade of a
cottonwood, he found himself forced, since he now
was out of range of their voices, to forego any
further listening, keenly against his desires. So
he gave it all up as a bad job.

"Stephen," began Helen, seating herself upon
a hummock of earth, "I am sorry -- sorry beyond
words -- that it has turned out this way! I must
admit that I like you -- like you very much! But -- but
I am afraid it is not the sort of liking you
ask."

He was seated beside her, reclining upon one
elbow, absently thrusting the tip of his riding-whip
into a tuft of grass. And now again, as before
that morning, he told her of his very great
love for her, his deep voice vibrant with emotion,
grimly acknowledging himself as unworthy of
her, yet asking with rare simplicity that she take
him anyway, take him in spite of his unworthiness,
declaring it as his belief she would find him
in time worthy -- that he would try to make himself
worthy -- _would_ make himself worthy -- would
overcome those faults which evidently -- though
she had not as yet told him what they were -- made
him impossible in her eyes. Then suddenly
he asked her to tell him precisely what these

[[130]]

p129 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p130w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p131

v?