ly, without other excuse than that, until to-night, you
have been sweet to me and made me happier and better than I have ever
been."

He sprang to his feet confused, deeply moved, suddenly ashamed of his
own inexplicable attitude that seemed to be driving him into a
bitterness that had no reason.

"Valerie," he began, but she interrupted him:

"I ask you, Kelly, to look back with me over our brief and happy
companionship--over the hours together, over all you have done for me--"

"Have you done less for me?"

"I? What have I done?"

"You say you have given me--love."

"I have--with all my heart and soul. And, now that I think of it, I have
given you more--I have given you all that goes with love--an unselfish
admiration; a quick sympathy in your perplexities; quiet solicitude in
your silences, in your aloof and troubled moments." She leaned nearer, a
brighter flush on either cheek:

"Louis, I have given you more than that; I gave you my bodily self for
your work--gave it to _you_ first of all--came first of all to you--came
as a novice, ignorant, frightened--and what you did for me then--what
you were to me at that time--I can never, never forget. And that is why
I overlook your injustice to me now!"

She sat up on the sofa's edge balanced forward between her arms, fingers
nervously working at the silken edges of the upholstery.

"You ought never to have doubted my interest and affection," she said.
"In my heart I have not doubted yours--never--except to-night. And it
makes me perfectly wretched."

"I did not mean--"

"Yes, you did! There was something about you--your expression--when you
saw me throwing roses at everybody--that hurt me--and you meant to."

"With Querida's arm around you, did you expect me to smile?" he asked,
savagely.

"Was it _that_?" she demanded, astonished.

"What?"

"Querida's arm--" She hesitated, gazing straight into his eyes in utter
amazement.

"It wasn't _that_?" she repeated. "Was it?... You never cared about such
petty things, did you? _Did_ you? _Do_ you care? Because I never dreamed
that you cared.... What has a little imprudence--a little silly
mischief--to do with our friendship? _Has_ it anything to do with it?
You've never said anything--and ... I've flirted--I've been spoons on
men--you knew it. Besides, I've nearly always told you. I've told you
without thinking it could possibly matter to you--to _you_ of all men!
What do you care what I do?--as long as I am