“It isn’t fair, is it?” Her tone was that of the comrade, now.  “But you know women are credited with a sort of instinct—­even intuition—­that leads them safely where men’s reasoning can’t always follow.”

“It never leads them astray, by any chance?”

“Yes, I think it does sometimes,” she owned frankly.  “But it’s as well for the woman to be on her guard, isn’t it?  Because, sometimes, you know, she loses her head.  And when that happens—­”

“All is lost?  Or does a man’s reasoning, slower and not so infallible, but sometimes based on greater knowledge, step in and save the day?”

“It often does.  But, in this case—­well, it’s not just a case of reasoning, is it?”

“The case of my falling in love with a girl I’ve only known—­slightly—­for four months?  It has seemed to me all along it was just that.  It’s been a case of the head sanctioning the heart—­and you probably know it’s not always that way with a young man’s experiences.  Every ideal I’ve ever known—­and I’ve had a few, though you might not think it—­every good thought and purpose, have been stimulated by my contact with the people of your father’s house.  And since I have met you some new ideals have been born.  They have become very dear to me, those new ideals, Miss Roberta, though they’ve had only a short time to grow.  It hurts to have you treat me as if you thought me incapable of them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said simply, and her hands gave his a little quick pressure which meant apology and regret.  His heart warmed a very little, for he had been sure she was capable of great generosity if appealed to in the right way.  But justice and generosity were not all he craved, and he could see quite clearly that they were all he was likely to get from her as yet.

“You think,” he said, pursuing his advantage, “we know too little of each other to be even friends.  You are confident my tastes and pleasures are entirely different from yours; especially that my notions of real work are so different that we could never measure things with the same footrule.”

He looked down at her searchingly.

She nodded.  “Something like that,” she admitted.  “But that doesn’t mean that either tastes or notions in either case are necessarily unworthy, only that they are different.”

“I wonder if they are?  What if we should try to find out?  I’m going to stick pretty closely to Eastman this winter, but of course I shall be in town more or less.  May I come to see you, now and then, if I promise not to become bothersome?”

It was her turn to look up searchingly at him.  If he had expected the usual answer to such a request, he began, before she spoke, to realize that it was by no means a foregone conclusion that he should receive usual answers from her to any questioning whatsoever.  But her reply surprised him more than he had ever been surprised by any girl in his life.

“Mr. Kendrick,” said she slowly, “I wish that you need not see me again till—­suppose we say Midsummer Day,[A] the twenty-fourth of June, you know.”