Rachel was kind to all: kind to the daisies and me, kind to John, kind to her betrothed, Arthur Noble (I had not failed to pick up the name), who was coming this evening to surprise her.

When and in what corner would the kindness end and cruelty begin?
Watching through a rent screen of tangled flowers, the fair shapely figure flitting and swaying in the after glory of the sunset, I wondered about it all.

How would she act when her other lover arrived?
Would she turn her face, in which lived such pathetic truth, first on one, and then on the other?
Would she for a time give a hand in the dark to each, lacking courage to fling love for ever over her shoulder, and declare at once for the world?
Would she honestly dismiss John, confessing that she had chosen her path?
or would she bravely destroy that which was unholy, and give her hand to him before the world?
Contemplating this possibility, I felt my heart swell with something that was not selfishness; and I built a palace in the air for John.
Having done so, I heard the garden door click again, and starting, looked, expecting to see John coming in to take possession of his palace on the instant.

A man came in, but he was a stranger.

He took first one path, and then another, and glanced about him with eyes unused to the place.