clasped his hands behind him again; and at her offering, she saw him strain at the tenseness with which he locked his hold upon his wrist. Wetness again came to her eyes; and she withdrew her hand, unoffended.
"You love me, Barney?" she said.
"Love you! Love you!"
"I love you, Barney. I've loved you from our first morning together, I think."
"No; no; no!" he tried to deny her; but she only smiled up at him and said:
"Yes; you've known that, Barney. That's been what's troubled you; not that you loved me, but that it was so plain that I loved you."
"So plain!" he denied, almost furiously, for her. "It wasn't. It's not true now!"
"Oh, isn't it? Do you suppose I'm ashamed."
He dropped to his knees before her and caught her hands and held them.
"The moment I saw you, Ethel Carew, I—cared. You didn't even see me then. I was in the car when you came in; you hardly looked at me. I watched you all that evening, while you worked over those papers in your section. Sometimes you seemed trying to decide things; sometimes it seemed you were just adding up figures which wouldn't come out right. It was wonderful to be able to watch you; you didn't know I was there at all."
"Oh, yes, I did."
"That much, perhaps; but you didn't care about me, then."
"I didn't know anything about you."
"Nor I about you; but I cared."
"How?"
