"Oh!" Disappointment made the exclamation listless. "Story-making, you were? I am afraid I can't see that way, thank you; I haven't the head for it."For the first time she smiled, with a warm lighting of her rain-gray eyes and a Madonna-like protectiveness of expression. He felt as distinct an impression as if she had laid her hand on his arm with an actual touch of sympathy.

"But I do not see that way, either," she explained. "That was an illustration. I mean that one can make pictures there of all the _real_ things that are not real for one's self; at least, not yet real. It is a game to play, I suppose, while one waits."

"I do not understand."

She made a gesture of resignation, and was mute. He comprehended that confidence would go no farther.

"Thank you," he accepted the rebuke. "It was good of you to put up with my curiosity and--not to misunderstand my speaking."

"Oh, no! I hate to misunderstand, ever; it is so stupid."

Although he had risen, he did not go at once. The evening colors faded, first from river, then from sky. With autumn's suddenness, dusk swept down. Playing children, groups of young people and promenaders passed by the little pavilion in a gay current; automobiles multiplied with the homing hour of the city. New York thought of dining, simply or superbly, as might be.

The silent tête-à-tête in the pavilion was broken by the softest sound in the world--a baby's drowsy, gurgling chuckle of awakening. Instantly the girl in black started from revery, and then the man first noticed that a white-and-gold baby carriage stood at her end of the curved seat. Astonished, incredulous, he saw her throw back miniature coverlets of frost-white eiderdown and bend over the little face, pink as a hollyhock, nestled there. For the first time in his life he witnessed the pretty byplay of the nursery--dropped kisses, the answering pats of chubby, useless hands, love-words and replying baby speech, inarticulate, adorable.

The scene struck deeply into inner places of thought he had never known lay at the back of consciousness. He never had thought very profoundly, until the last few weeks. And even yet he was struggling, turning in a mental circle of doubt, rather than thinking. The girl and the child flung open a door through which he glimpsed strange vistas, startling in their forbidden possibilities. He stood watching, dumb, until she turned to him. Her face was kindled and laughing; she looked 

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