"But, Agnes, how came you here? I—I—thought you—were getting married. Are you here on—on your wedding trip?"
"Oh, Lord, no! No, Jean, I am not going to marry."
"Not going to marry!"
She shook her head and affected to be sad, but a little smile played around her lips that he saw but didn't understand.
"But—Agnes, why?"
"Because the one to whom I was engaged—well, he wouldn't marry me," and she laughed.
"I wish you would make it all clear. At least tell me what it means—that it is so."
"It is so!" she said stoutly, and he believed her when he saw her eyes.
"Well, I guess I'll understand by and by."
"You will understand, soon, Jean," she said kindly. "Papa will explain—everything." She turned her eyes away then, and in the moment he reached and grasped her hand. In the next instant he had dropped it, as a far away expression came into his eyes as if he had suddenly recalled something he would forget.