r would he simply rise up and leave her in unutterable
contempt? It was the most tragic moment of her life, and her whole
personality was strung up to meet it and withstand it.

"Well, they were good letters, anyhow," said Gilbert finally;
"interesting letters," he added, as if by way of a meditative
afterthought.

It was so anti-climactic that Alma broke into an hysterical giggle,
cut short by a sob. She dropped into a chair by the table and flung
her hands over her face, laughing and sobbing softly to herself.
Gilbert rose and walked to the door, where he stood with his back to
her until she regained her self-control. Then he turned and looked
down at her quizzically.

Alma's hands lay limply in her lap, and her eyes were cast down, with
tears glistening on the long fair lashes. She felt his gaze on her.

"Can you ever forgive me, Gilbert?" she said humbly.

"I don't know that there is much to forgive," he answered. "I have
some explanations to make too and, since we're at it, we might as well
get them all over and have done with them. Two years ago I did
honestly think I was in love with Anna--at least when I was round
where she was. She had a taking way with her. But, somehow, even then,
when I wasn't with her she seemed to kind of grow dim and not count
for so awful much after all. I used to wish she was more like
you--quieter, you know, and not so sparkling. When I parted from her
that last night before I went west, I did feel very bad, and she
seemed very dear to me, but it was six weeks from that before
her--your--letter came, and in that time she seemed to have faded out
of my thoughts. Honestly, I wasn't thinking much about her at all.
Then came the letter--and it was a splendid one, too. I had never
thought that Anna could write a letter like that, and I was as pleased
as Punch about it. The letters kept coming, and I kept on looking for
them more and more all the time. I fell in love all over again--with
the writer of those letters. I thought it was Anna, but since you
wrote the letters, it must have been with you, Alma. I thought it was
because she was growing more womanly that she could write such
letters. That was why I came home. I wanted to get acquainted all over
again, before she grew beyond me altogether--I wanted to find the real
Anna the letters showed me. I--I--didn't expect this. But I don't care
if Anna is married, so long as the girl who wrote those letters isn't.
It's you I love, Alma."