The garden was too peaceful and fair for a scene of discord. From behind the sun-warmed box hedges came the odor of clove pinks, hundred-leaf roses and heliotrope, while breezes, passing by the porch of the old-fashioned, high-pillared house, brought the cloying sweetness of honeysuckle and jessamine blooms. Along the gravelled paths paced a man and a girl, both young and good to look upon. The girl, slender, brown-eyed, fair-haired, white-skinned, discoursed passionately; the man, with steady blue eyes, broad brow and firm chin, listened, turning toward her once in a while a half-bewildered look. "You do not understand, you cannot," the girl was saying excitedly. "You are nothing but ice and snow, a creature of marble. If you had ever met love face to face, had ever felt its real power I would not need to question you, but it has to filter through your body and never reaches your soul. There is so little spiritual essence in what you offer that it is valueless to me." "But, Nancy, what is it you want me to do?" asked the man, still looking bewildered. The girl made a despairing gesture. "You ask me to tell you what to do!" she cried. "If your own heart cannot tell you, it is no use, no use to go on. Have you ever stood at night in the shadows gazing at my window till my light went out?" He shook his head. "I don't think so," he answered slowly. "Did you ever lie awake, Terrence Wirt, thinking of me, and find yourself here in the garden at dawn waiting for me to appear?" "Why, no. I didn't need to do that. I know your breakfast hour and I never like to intrude too early," replied the man still with a puzzled look. Would you like me to come before breakfast?" "Not unless you can't help coming." "I hope I have myself well enough in hand not to act on an impulse which would mean impoliteness to your mother."