“Yes—and—er—extreme. She likes him. There is everyreason to hope that her liking will develop into a sufficientlydeep and stable affection. She will get rid of her folly about B，and make A a good wife. Yes， Miss May， if I were the authorof your novel I should make her marry A， and I should call thata happy ending.”
A silence followed. It was broken by the philosopher.
“Is that all you wanted my opinion about， Miss May？” heasked， with his finger between the leaves of the treatise onontology.
“Yes， I think so. I hope I haven’t bored you？”
“I’ve enjoyed the discussion extremely. I had no idea thatnovels raised points of such psychological interest. I must findtime to read one.”
The girl had shifted her position till， instead of her full face，her profile was turned toward him. Looking away toward thepaddock that lay brilliant in sunshine on the skirts of the appleorchard， she asked in low slow tones， twisting her hands in herlap：
“Don’t you think that perhaps if B found out afterward—when she had married A， you know—that she had cared forhim so very， very much， he might be a little sorry？”
“If he were a gentleman he would regret it deeply.”
“I mean—sorry on his own account； that—that he hadthrown away all that， you know？”
The philosopher looked meditative.
“I think，” he pronounced， “that it is very possible he would.
I can well imagine it.”
“He might never find anybody to love him like that again，”
she said， gazing on the gleaming paddock.
“He probably would not，” agreed the philosopher.
“And—and most people like being loved， don’t they？”
“To crave for love is an almost universal instinct， MissMay.”
“Yes， almost，” she said， with a dreary little smile. “You see，He’ll get old， and—and have no one to look after him.”
“He will.”
“And no home.”
“Well， in a sense， none，” corrected the philosopher， smiling.
“But really you’ll frighten me. I’m a bachelor myself， youknow， Miss May.”
“Yes，” she whispered， just audibly.
“And all your terrors are before me.”
“Well， unless—”
“Oh， we needn’t have that ‘unless，’” laughed the philosopher，cheerfully. “There’s no ‘unless’ about it， Miss May.”
The girl jumped to her feet； for an instant she looked atthe philosopher. She opened her lips as if to speak， and at thethought of what lay at her tongue’s tip her face grew red. Butthe philosopher was gazing past her， and his eyes rested incalm contemplation on the gleaming paddock.
“A beautiful thing， sunshine， to be sure，” said he.
Her blush faded away into paleness； her lips closed. Withoutspeaking， she turned and walked slowly away， her headdrooping. The philosopher heard the rustle of her skirt in thelong grass of the orchard； he watched her for a few moments.
“A pretty， graceful creature，” said he， with a smile. Then heopened his book， took his pencil in his hand， and slipped in acareful forefinger to mark the fly-leaf.
The sun had passed mid-heaven and began to declinewestward before he finished the book. Then he stretchedhimself and looked at his watch.
“Good gracious， two o’clock！ I shall be late for lunch！” andhe hurried to his feet.
He was very late for lunch.
“Everything’s cold，” wailed his hostess. “Where have youbeen，
Mr. Jerningham？”
“Only in the orchard-reading.”
“And you’ve missed May！”
“Missed Miss May？ How do you mean？ I had a long talkwith her this morning—a most interesting talk.”
“But you weren’t here to say good-by. Now you don’t meanto say that you forgot that she was leaving by the two-o’clocktrain？ What a man you are！”
“Dear me！ To think of my forgetting it！” said the philosopher，shamefacedly.
“She told me to say good-bye to you for her.”
“She’s very kind. I can’t forgive myself.”
His hostess looked at him for a moment； then she sighed，and smiled， and sighed again.
“Have you everything you want？” she asked.
“Everything， thank you，” said he， sitting down opposite thecheese， and propping his book （he thought he would just runthrough the last chapter again） against the loaf； “everything inthe world that I want， thanks.”
His hostess did not tell him that the girl had come in fromthe apple orchard and run hastily upstairs， lest her friendshould see what her friend did see in her eyes. So that he hadno suspicion at all that he had received an offer of marriage—and refused it. And he did not refer to anything of that sortwhen he paused once in his reading and exclaimed：
“I’m really sorry I missed Miss May. That was an interestingcase of hers. But I gave the right answer； the girl ought tomarry A.”
And so the girl did.
