Fortunately there was no one upon the road to notice the reinless plight in which these two young people found themselves, and they were quite as well satisfied as if they had been doing their own driving.  After a little period of thought, Annie turned an earnest face to Lawrence, and she said:  “Do you know that I never believed that you were really in love with Roberta March.”

Lawrence squeezed her hand, but did not reply.  He knew very well that he had loved Roberta March, and he was not going to lie about it.

“I thought so,” she continued, “because I did not believe that any one, who was truly in love, would want to send other people about, to propose for him, as you did.”

“That is not exactly the state of the case,” he said, “but we must not talk of those things now.  That is all passed and gone.”

“But if there ever was any love,” she persisted, “are you sure that it is all gone?”

“Gone,” he answered, earnestly, “as utterly and completely as the days of last summer.”

And now the sorrel, of his own accord, stopped at Mrs Keswick’s outer gate; and Lawrence, getting down, took up the reins, opened the gate, and drove to the house in quite a proper way.

When Mr Croft helped Annie to descend from the spring-wagon, he did not squeeze her hand, nor exchange with her any tender glances, for old Mrs Keswick was standing at the top of the steps.  “Have you seen Letty?” she asked.

“Letty?” said Miss Annie.  “Oh, yes,” she added, as if she suddenly remembered that such a person existed, “Letty was at church, and she was very active.”

“Well,” said the old lady, “she must have taken more interest in the exercises than you did, for it is long past the time when I told her she must be home.”

“I do not believe, madam,” said Lawrence, “that any one could have taken more interest in the exercises of this morning, than we have.”

At this, Annie could not help giving him a little look which would have provoked reflection in the mind of the old lady, had she not been very earnestly engaged in gazing out into the road, in the hope of seeing Letty.

When Lawrence had gone into the office, and had closed the door behind him, he stood in a meditative mood before the empty fireplace.  He was making inquiries of himself in regard to what he had just done.  He was not accusing himself, nor indulging in regrets; he was simply investigating the matter.  Here he stood, a man accepted by two women.  If he had ever heard of any other man in a like condition, he would have called that man a scoundrel, and yet he did not deem himself a scoundrel.