"One says lots of things, at times, you know." Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a light that plainly needed but a breath to fan it into quick fire.
"Alice," he said softly, "do you mean that maybe now--I needn't try to fight--that other tiger skin ?" There was no answer.
Arkwright reached out a pleading hand.
"Alice, dear, I've loved you so long," he begged unsteadily.

"Don't you think that sometime, if I was very, very patient, you could just _begin_--to care a little for me ?" Still there was no answer.

Then, slowly, Alice shook her head.

Her face was turned quite away--which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his own would not have become so somber.
"Not even a little bit ?" "I couldn't ever--begin," answered a half-smothered voice.
"Alice!" cried the man, heart-brokenly.
Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant let him see her eyes, glowing with the love so long kept in relentless exile.
"I couldn't, because, you see-I began--long ago," she whispered.
"Alice!" It was the same single word, but spoken with a world of difference, for into it now was crowded all the glory and the wonder of a great love.

"Alice!" breathed the man again; and this time the word was, oh, so tenderly whispered into the little pink and white ear of the girl in his arms.
"I got delayed," began Billy, in the doorway.
"Oh-h!" she broke off, beating a hushed, but precipitate, retreat.
Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the door again.