eshold. As she put thequestion he entere

er passing impulse ofexpiation moved him, he would not be fool enough to tell herthat he had not sent her letter. He knew that mostwrongdoing works, on

you must let me help you...Yo

friendly touch to help out the insufficiencyof words. He felt her yiel

ght have done to prevent ourhaving it?"She drew back, freeing her hands. Her fa

constrained and ashamed, and evermore keenly aware that the betra

" he cried, throwing ou

she had gone on doubting him he could probablyhave gone on deceiving her; but her unhesitating acceptanceof his word made him hate the part he was playing. At thesame moment a doubt shot up its

to suspicion. But the moment hiseyes fell on her he was ashamed of the thought,

w days, to have all the things you'venever had. It's not always May and Paris--why not make themost of them now? You know me--we're not strangers--whyshouldn't you treat me like a friend?"While he spoke she had drawn away

because I wanted so much to give you a fewgood hours...and because I couldn't bear to have you go."He had the feeling that the w

remainedmotionless for a moment after he had

ce, at the same moment, underwent the same change,shrinking into a small malevolent white mask in which theeyes burned black. "Thank you--thank you most awfully fortelling me! And for all your other kind intentions! Theplan's delightful--

that of allaying his agitation. The theatricaltouch in her manner mad

k your letter; and my telling you seemsrather strong proof that I hadn't any very nefarious designson you."She met this with a shrug, but h

orget all the things thatare troubling you. I was a fool not to see that if I'd putit to you in that way you'd have accepted or refused, as youchose; but that at least you wouldn't have mistaken myintentions.--Intentions!" He stood up, walked the length ofthe room, and turned back to where she still sat motionless,her elbows propped on the dressing-table, her chin on herhands. "What rubbish we talk about intentions! The truth isI hadn

you wanted!"Darrow broke into a laugh at this ingenuous picture of hisstate. He was ashamed of trying to better his case

sbitter and distracted; she was near him, her eyes weresh

--do forgive

nty of time to remember. But this IS good-bye, you know. I must telegraph at once to say I'm coming.""To say you're coming? Then I'm not forgiven?""Oh, you're forgiven--if that's any comfort

ute. Her gaze was as clear as a boy's. "Oh, it's notTHAT," she exclaimed, almost impatiently; "it's not peopleI'm afraid of! They'

e money! With me that'salways the root of the matter. I could never yet affo

heroot of the matter; it can't be the whole of it, betweenfriends. Don't you think one friend may accept a smallservice from another without looking too far ahead orweighing too many chances? The question turns entirely onwhat you think of me. If you li

his, looked so small and young that Darrow felt afugitive twing

we say good-bye ifwe're both sorry to? Won't you tell me your reason? It's nota bit like you to let anything stand in the way of yoursaying just what you feel. You mustn't mind offending me,you know!"She hung before him like a leaf on the meeting of cross-currents, that the next ripple may sweep forward or whirlback.

terra-cotta statuette, some young image of grace hardly morethan sketched in the clay. Darrow, as he stood looking ather, reflected that her character, for all its seemingf

our had all theindecision and awkwardness of inexperience. It showed thatshe was a child after all;

wason her feet and had swept round on him a face she must h

ther without speaking; thenshe spr

ble sense thatmade him wince, and instead he caught her proffered handsand stood looking at her across the length of her arms,without attempting to bend them or to draw her c

nk as her own, anddeclaring, as he dropped h