"I am not in the habit of
suspecting ladies. But I ask you if you can explain the light on that
side of the house."
"Jack," she said, flinging out a hand, "forgive me. I admit that Captain
Orme and I carried on a bit of a flirtation, after he came back--after
he had told me about you. But why should that--why, he did not know you
were here."
"No," said I, dryly, "I don't think he did. I am glad to know that you
found something to amuse you in my absence."
"Let us not speak of amusements in the absence of each other," she said
bitterly. "Think of your own. But when you came back, it was all as it
was last spring. I could love no other man but you, Jack, and you know
it. After all, if we are quits, let us stay quits, and forgive, and
forget--let us forget, Jack."
I sat looking at her as she turned to me, pleading, imploring in her
face, her gesture.
"Jack," she went on, "a woman needs some one to take care of her, to
love her. I want you to take care of me--you wouldn't throw me over for
just a little thing--when all the time you yourself--"
"The light shone for miles across the valley," said I.
"Precisely, and that was how he happened to come up, I do not doubt.
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