A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
"You and your set—one knows you, and yet one oesn't," she said to him. "You seem so still, so satisfied, so sure about life—there seems to be so much you don't tell! Do you see what I mean? It frightens me. There is so much we don't think the same about, Lawrence—so much of you I don't know! I wanted, when I married, to come into a—a peace. I wanted it to be—don't laugh—like my Confirmation: do you think it would, if I married you? Do you, Lawrence?"
He turned his head away. A vision of her, those ten short years ago, in white procession down the aisle of Easter lilies, rapt and aloof, flashed before him. For one sweet second he saw her in fancy, again in white, but trembling now, and near him
"Oh, dearest child," he begged, "I don't know about the peace—how can I? The things are so different! But we could be happy—I know we could! Is peace all you want, sweetheart, all?"
Caught by his eyes, her own wavered and dropped; a flood of red rose to her hair.
"Don't, Lawrence, you frighten me! When you
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