o long and so honestly that it seemed to him
now as if that love had been the very foundation of his life. He could
not remember a time when he had not loved her; away back to the time when
he, a big boy, took her, a little girl, under his care, and devoted
himself to her. He had grown into the belief that so strong and so
consistent an affection, though he had never spoken it or even hinted at
it or inferred it, had become a part of her life as well as of his own.
And this was the end of that dreaming! Not only did she not care for
him, but found herself with a heart so empty that she needs must propose
marriage to another man! There was surely something, more than at
present he knew of or could understand, behind such an act done by her.
Why should she ask Everard to marry her? Why should she ask any man?
Women didn't do such things! . . . Here he paused. 'Women didn't do such
things.' All at once there came back to him fragments of discussions--in
which Stephen had had a part, in which matters of convention had been
dealt with. Out of these dim and shattered memories came a comfort to
his heart, though his brain could not as yet grasp the reason of it. He
knew that Stephen had held an unconventional idea as to the equality of
the sexes. Was it possible that she was indeed testing one of her
theories?

The idea stirred him so that he could not remain quiet. He stood up, and
walked the room. Somehow he felt light beginning to dawn, though he
could not tell its source, or guess at the final measure of its fulness.
The fact of Stephen having done such a thing was hard to bear; but it was
harder to think that she should have done such a thing without a motive;
or worse: with love of Leonard as a motive! He shuddered as he paused.
She could not love such a man. It was monstrous! And yet she had done
this thing . . . 'Oh, if she had had any one to advise her, to restrain
her! But she had no mother! No mother! Poor Stephen!'

The pity of it, not for himself but for the woman he loved, overcame him.
Sitting down heavily before his desk, he put his face on his hands, and
his great shoulders shook.

Long, long after the violence of his emotion had passed, he sat there
motionless, thinking with all the power and sincerity he knew; thinking
for Stephen's good.

When a strong man thinks unselfishly some good may come out of it. He
may blunder; but the conclusion of his reasoning must be in the main
right. S