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I’d been wasting my time star-gazing on my last night at home. [With a trace of defiance.] Well, the point is this, Pa; it isn’t my last night at home. I’m not going—I mean—I can’t go tomorrow with Uncle Dick—or at any future time, either.

—[With a sharp sigh of joyful relief.] Oh, Robbie, I’m so glad!

—[Astounded.] You ain’t serious, be you, Robert?

—Yes, I mean what I say.

—[Severely.] Seems to me it’s a pretty late hour in the day for you to be upsettin’ all your plans so sudden!

—I asked you to remember that until this evening I didn’t know myself—the wonder which makes everything else in the world seem sordid and pitifully selfish by comparison. I had never dared to dream

—[Irritably.] Come to the point. What is this foolishness you’re talkin’ of?

—[Flushing.] Ruth told me this evening that—she loved me. It was after I’d confessed I loved her. I told her I hadn’t been conscious of my love until after the trip had been arranged, and I realized it would mean—leaving her. That was the truth. I didn’t know until then. [As if justifying himself to the others.] I hadn’t intended telling her anything but—suddenly—I felt I must. I didn’t think it would matter, because I was going away, and before I came back I was sure she’d have forgotten.