evening, her practical examinations being over, he went with her to dinner at one of the hotels down the river, near Richmond.

It was golden and beautiful, with yellow water and white and scarlet-striped boat-awnings, and blue shadows under the trees.

“When shall we be married?” he asked her, quietly, simply, as if it were a mere question of comfort.

She watched the changing pleasure-traffic of the river. He looked at her golden, puzzled museau. The knot gathered in his throat.

“I don't know,” she said.

A hot grief gripped his throat.

“Why don't you know — don't you want to be married?” he asked her.