But she did not understand him. She had looked down and seen Harry's foot-track on the moss.
And so they sat until the first star arose and shimmered through the blue mist which lay around the far off purpling hill tops. Then there was the clang of a dinner bell.
“It is Mammy Maria,” she said—“I must go. No—you must not walk home with me. I'd rather be alone.”
She did not intend it, but it was brutal to have said it that way—to the sensitive heart it went to. He looked hurt for a moment and then tried to smile in a weak way. Then he raised his hat gallantly, turned and went off down the gulch.
Helen stood looking for the last time on the pretty arbor. Here she had lost her heart—her life. She fell on the moss again and kissed the stone. Then she walked home—in tears.