One evening in the beginning of March, Sid Gardiner squired Cecilia Blythe to a party at the Bay Shore. The fete was held in honor of one of his Madison cousins going away overseas. Cecilia had a good time, despite the note of goodbye in the festivities. She made merry with the Gardiners and their ilk, and wished Bobby Madison luck in such a sweet voice and with such an appealing, earnest face, that that fellow immediately saw any regrets he might have had about going whisked away. It would not be difficult to fight for a country that had girls as sweet as cousin Sid's little Cecilia. What a lucky fellow Sid was! Bob Madison never forgot her little face when he was away—and he would always wonder at Sid, whenever he heard of what happened later that night, and in the days that followed.

Here is what happened: close to nine o'clock, Cecilia and Sid took their leave and set out by car along the shore road toward Four Winds. It was a wonderful night, and so when Sid pulled off the road near a pretty overlook, Cecilia did not question it, but walked with him through the snow that had fallen in the night to look down the side of the hill to the valley spread below. The sky was a great bowlful of stars overhead. Sid stood behind her with his arms around her waist. They were silent a long while, until at last he spoke. She felt the words rumbling in his chest almost rather than hearing them.

"Cecilia—won't you marry me?"

How pretty, she thought, watching as a lazy spiral of blue smoke curled up against the dark sky. And then the meaning of his words hit her. It was what everyone said was coming—she had believed it was, herself—but now that it had come, it had blindsided her.

"Oh," she gasped, her breath taken away by the suddenness of it. "Oh!"

Sid heard it and mistook it for a sound of outright acquiescence. "Of course it can't be for some time," he said. "Dad has saved a lot in the back pasture for us to build a house, but I must buy it from him, and earn enough to do so. It will take me close to two years, at this rate. But it won't seem that long—we'll have something to hope and work for, together. Cecilia,"—for Sid was only now realizing that many moments had passed without her giving a definitive answer, "You will marry me—won't you?"

"Oh, Sid," said Cecilia, and her eyes darkened so that they were almost black. "I could—

I might—Sid, I have to go. I can't give you an answer right now."

"Why not?" Sid questioned.

"I must think about it—I'm so young—it is such a big step. And I must talk it over with—"

Cecilia had not planned on saying that last part. Why had she? She had decided that she would not honor the promise Blythe asked of her, and here she was—honoring it? Oh—why? Why?

"With whom?" Sid thundered. "Until you talk it over with whom?"

"With Blythe," said Cecilia piteously. "I have to talk it over with Blythe, first."

Sid pulled away from her and turned to look at the dark valley for a moment. "Cecilia," he asked, with his back still to her. "Are you in love with Blythe Meredith?"

"No," said Cecilia forcefully. But Sid whirled to look at her, disgustedly.

"I think you are," he said. "And I know—I know you kissed him. On Christmas Eve. I heard all about it. I didn't want to believe it was true—but now I see that it is. You can't love me—because you love him."

"I don't!" Cecilia cried, beginning to cry. "Blythe kissed me—it was just something stupid that happened, Sid. I didn't tell you because I thought nothing of it. Blythe is my friend—my dearest friend—but my friend, only. And I don't know who told you but they got the story all mixed up."

Although she did have a sneaking suspicion of who might have told. There was only one person who had seen what had happened—Marshall. Cecilia's heart broke as she recalled his promise that he wouldn't tell—but he had. He had lied to her face—and then he had told Sid—and then he had pretended to go on being her friend when he had betrayed her. She was not really good friends with Marshall—he was only a chum—so why did his betrayal hurt as much as it did?

"Sid," she said, trying to wrap his arms around him. But he threw her off and stalked back to the car. They drove back to Red Apple Farm in silence, and when Cecilia tried to kiss him, he turned his face away. Choking back a sob, she flew up the steps and to her room where she cast herself facedown on the bed and cried and cried. But was she crying for her failed romance—the pain she had caused with that stolen kiss—or for a fledgingly friendship killed?

She did not know, and so she cried for all those things.

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Sid and Cecilia did not speak again for several days, during which Cecilia did not write to Blythe about it as she thought she would. Sid's question rankled in her brain—did she love Blythe? Oh, she loved him fiercely—but did she love him like that? At times she thought she did, but at other times—for the first time—she hated him. She felt as though Blythe had ruined something for her, without even being there, and felt more distant from him than she ever had. Two letters came for her from him in the space of two days, and she read neither of them. She answered epistles from Gilly and Walt—she wrote back to them charmingly—but Blythe's letters she hid under her mattress and tried to forget about them.

"I won't be in love with Blythe!" she scolded herself. "And I won't ask his permission for anything—I won't let him have a hold on me!"

But she could not pretend he didn't--he did.

Marshall came by the farm with his Keynes, but Cecilia would not speak to him, except to storm downstairs and hurl a vicious look at him.

"You said you wouldn't tell about Blythe kissing me, but you did. You needn't deny it—I know you did."

"I didn't," said Marshall, agape at the look of fury on her face. He had not expected that Cecilia could look so furious. That kind of feeling seemed to go against her sweet nature.

"You are a liar," she said simply. "And I don't want anything to do with liars. Go away, Marshall, and don't come back."

Marshall had a healthy dose of temper himself. He went—and he did not come back.

At night, Aunt Penny heard, through the wall, Cecilia pacing up and down. Una noticed the girl's red, swollen eyes over breakfast, but she did not say anything because she did not know what to say. Cecilia lived in an agony of loneliness. She could not go to Blythe—or Marshall—and Joy would only tell her to take Sid's offer because Joy wanted everyone to be married. And Sid—she dared not telephone him, or show up at Silver Bush.

She felt utterly, and wholly, alone.

Sid showed up at Red Apple one witchy, early spring night—with his hands in his pockets and a grim look on his face. Cecilia saw him coming from her bedroom window and flew downstairs to meet him. At that moment, she loved him. He would come to her and lift her out of this pit of loneliness. She met him in the yard without even bothering with a coat, and despite the chill, her face was rosy and flushed with pleasure.

"Sid!" Cecilia threw her arms around him. She had not realized how much she missed him—how much she loved him—until that moment. She had been thinking he was lost to her--to see him there now was a relief—and a joy. But he did not put his arms around her.

"Sid!" she laughed. "Oh, darling, don't be cross." In a moment her mind was made up—so quickly she did not even have to think about it.

"Of course I'll marry you, dearest," she whispered, lifting her face for a kiss. "I didn't even have to ask Blythe—I asked my heart, and it told me the answer. I couldn't get along without you. Darling, I will."

But Sid's lips did not touch her upraised ones. And still he did not touch her. Why didn't he touch her? He had slipped his hands out of his pockets—now he held her—but it was only to push her away. The look on his face was that of a man who has walked through fire—a man in whose soul the fire has forever gone out. There was a glint of something gold on his finger and Cecilia felt the world begin to tilt. Sid's lips parted—but still he did not kiss her—he spoke, and his voice was as cold as the frozen ground.

"I can't marry you, Cecilia," he said. It was like the yelp of a dog that expects to be beaten.

"Why—why not, Sid?"

Sid held his hands before him. They trembled—there was an unfamiliar gold band around the fourth finger of his left hand. "Because I'm already married—to—to someone else."