“Yes. The wild cherry at the south-east corner of the spruce bush is coming into bloom,” said David…and said nothing more for a long time. Pat did not mind. She liked their long, frequent, friendly silences when you could think of anything you liked.

“Suzanne is going to be married next month,” said David suddenly.

Pat lifted a startled face. She had not thought it would be before the fall. And…if Suzanne were to be married…what about David? He couldn’t stay on at the Long House alone. Would his next words say something of the sort? Pat felt her lips and mouth go curiously dry. But of course…

What was David saying?

“Do you really want to marry me, Pat?”

What an extraordinary question! Hadn’t she promised to marry him? Hadn’t they been engaged…happily, contentedly engaged, for years?

“David! What do you mean? Of course…”

“Wait.” David bent forward and looked her squarely in the face.

“Look into my eyes, Pat…don’t turn your face away. Tell me the truth.”

Under his compelling gaze Pat gasped out,

“I…I can’t…I don’t know it. But I think I do, David…oh, I really think I do.”

“I think, dear,” said David slowly, “that your attitude, whether you realize it or not, is, ‘I’d just as soon be married to you as any one, if I have to be married.’ That isn’t enough for me, Pat. No, you don’t love me, though you’ve pretended you have…pretended beautifully, to yourself as well as me. I won’t have you on those terms, Pat.”

The garden whirled around Pat…jigged up and down…steadied itself.

“I…I meant to make you happy, David,” she said piteously.

“I know. And I don’t mind taking chances with my own life…but with yours…no, I can’t risk it.”

“You seem to have made up your mind to jilt me, David,” Pat was between tears and something like hysterical laughter. “And I do…I really do…like you so much.”

“That isn’t enough. I’m not blaming you. I took a chance. I thought I could teach you to love me. I’ve failed. I’m the kind of man all women like…and none love. It…it was that way before. I will not have it so again…it’s too bitter. There’s an old couplet—

“‘There’s always one who kisses

And one who turns the cheek.’”

“Not always,” murmured Pat.

“No, not always. But often…and it’s not going to be that way with me a second time. We’ll always be good friends, Pat…and nothing more.”