The slightly awakened interest in the young lady’seyes did not abate. Perhaps it was caused by either theoriginality or the audacity of the snow-bird hunter， in thuscircumventing her express commands against the ordinarymodes of communication. She fixed her eye on a statuestanding disconsolate in the dishevelled park， and spokeinto the transmitter：
“Tell the gentleman that I need not repeat to him adescription of my ideals. He knows what they have beenand what they still are. So far as they touch on this case，absolute loyalty and truth are the ones paramount. Tellhim that I have studied my own heart as well as one can，and I know its weakness as well as I do its needs. Thatis why I decline to hear his pleas， whatever they maybe. I did not condemn him through hearsay or doubtfulevidence， and that is why I made no charge. But， since hepersists in hearing what he already well knows， you mayconvey the matter.
“Tell him that I entered the conservatory that eveningfrom the rear， to cut a rose for my mother. Tell him I sawhim and Miss Ashburton beneath the pink oleander. Thetableau was pretty， but the pose and juxtaposition weretoo eloquent and evident to require explanation. I left theconservatory， and， at the same time， the rose and my ideal.
You may carry that song and dance to your impresario.”
“I’m shy on one word， lady. Jux—jux—put me wise ondat， will yer？”
“Juxtaposition—or you may call it propinquity—or， ifyou like， being rather too near for one maintaining theposition of an ideal.”
The gravel spun from beneath the boy’s feet. He stoodby the other bench. The man’s eyes interrogated him，hungrily. The boy’s were shining with the impersonal zealof the translator.
“De lady says dat she’s on to de fact dat gals is dead easywhen a feller comes spielin’ ghost stories and tryin’ tomake up， and dat’s why she won’t listen to no soft-soap.
She says she caught yer dead to rights， huggin’ a bunch o’
calico in de hot-house. She side-stepped in to pull someposies and yer was squeezin’ de oder gal to beat de band.
She says it looked cute， all right all right， but it made hersick. She says yer better git busy， and make a sneak for detrain.”
The young man gave a low whistle and his eyes flashedwith a sudden thought. His hand flew to the inside pocketof his coat， and drew out a handful of letters. Selectingone， he handed it to the boy， following it with a silverdollar from his vest-pocket.
“Give that letter to the lady，” he said， “and ask her to readit. Tell her that it should explain the situation. Tell her that，if she had mingled a little trust with her conception of theideal， much heartache might have been avoided. Tell herthat the loyalty she prizes so much has never wavered. Tellher I am waiting for an answer.”
The messenger stood before the lady.
“De gent says he’s had de ski-bunk put on him widoutno cause. He says he’s no bum guy； and， lady， yer read datletter， and I’ll bet yer he’s a white sport， all right.”
The young lady unfolded the letter； somewhat doubtfully，and read it.
DEAR DR. ARNOLD： I want to thank you for yourmost kind and opportune aid to my daughter last Fridayevening， when she was overcome by an attack of herold heart-trouble in the conservatory at Mrs. Waldron’sreception. Had you not been near to catch her as shefell and to render proper attention， we might have losther. I would be glad if you would call and undertake thetreatment of her case.
Gratefully yours，
ROBERT ASHBURTON.
The young lady refolded the letter， and handed it to theboy.
“De gent wants an answer，” said the messenger. “Wot’sde word？”
The lady’s eyes suddenly flashed on him， bright， smilingand wet.
“Tell that guy on the other bench，” she said， with ahappy， tremulous laugh， “that his girl wants him.”
