"I feel--as if--whatever I do--will be wrong." "That's just it," said Fletcher Hill, as if that were the very admission he had been waiting for.

And then he did what for him was a very curious thing.

He went down upon one knee on the dusty floor, bringing his face on a level with hers, clasping her tense hands between his own.

"You don't trust yourself, and you won't trust me," he said.

"Isn't that it?
Or something like it ?" The official air had dropped from him like a garment.