“I thought that only women were that.”

“That’s an admission,” laughed Tessa, “you cross old bachelor.”

“You learned that from Dine.”

“No, I learned it from you.”

Tessa talked rapidly and lightly, perhaps, because she did not feel like talking at all.

Would he marry Nan Gerard? Why could she not be glad for Nan Gerard? Why must she be just a little sorry for herself? Why must it make a difference to her? Why must the weight of the flowers be too heavy for her hand, and why must she give them that toss over a fence across a field?

“Your pretty flowers,” expostulated Mr. Hammerton.

“I do not care for them; they were withering.”

“I have a thought; I wonder why it should come to me; I am wondering if you and I walk together here a year from to-day what we shall be talking about. My prophetic soul reveals to me that a year makes a difference sometimes.”

“I remember a year ago to-day,” she answered. “A year has made a difference.”