"I am sure—at last." She raised her eyes to his. "I could not let you come until I knew that—all the homes in all the world would not be home without—"
"Without what, Claudia?"
"Without— Why do you make me tell you when you know? You make me tell too much."
"You cannot tell too much. Claudia! Claudia!"
Overhead the birds chirped sleepily and one by one the stars came out. Presently Claudia drew herself away and smoothed her kissed and wind-blown hair. "I am such a queer person. I think you ought to know," she said, and again her shining eyes were raised to his. "There are a great many things I don't care for, and I don't think the way some people do about a good many other things. I had to take long to be sure."
"It was very cruel, Claudia." He lifted her face to his and smiled in the confessing eyes. "My forgiveness proves the measure of my love. As proof of penitence, will you marry me in June?"
"I certainly—will—not!" Again she drew away. "Jacqueline will not get here until July. I told you she was coming home to live. You don't suppose I'd leave my mother before Jacqueline comes home?"
"Then when?"
"In October, perhaps." Slowly the color crept to her temples. "It is so beautiful here in October. There isn't a month in all the year it will not hurt to leave." Sudden tears were in her eyes. "But it would hurt worse not to be—with—you. They were very long, Winthrop, the winter months that followed Christmas. You have very poor manners. You should have written first and told me you had enjoyed yourself instead of telling—"
"What I could no longer keep back? There was no time for manners. I had to know."