hat made you cry!" he stammered. "Why?"

"Please, sir, I don't know."

"Mary Ann," he said gravely, "don't you see that when I did that I
was--like your brother Tom?"

"No, sir. Tom didn't kiss me like that."

"I don't mean that, Mary Ann; I mean I was wicked."

Mary Ann stared at him.

"Don't you think so, Mary Ann?"

"Oh no, sir. You were very good."

"No, no, Mary Ann. Don't say good."

"Ever since then I have been so happy," she persisted.

"Oh, that was because you were wicked, too," he explained grimly. "We
have both been very wicked, Mary Ann; and so we had better part now,
before we get more wicked."

She stared at him plaintively, suspecting a lurking irony, but not sure.

"But you didn't mind being wicked before!" she protested.

"I'm not so sure I mind now. It's for your sake, Mary Ann, believe me,
my dear." He took her bare hand kindly, and felt it burning. "You're a
very simple, foolish little thing--yes, you are. Don't cry. There's no
harm in being simple. Why, you told me yourself how silly you were once
when you brought your dying mother cakes and flowers to take to your dead
little sister. Well, you're just as foolish and childish now, Mary Ann,
though you don't know it any more than you did then. After all, you're
only nineteen. I found it out from the vicar's letter. But a time will
come--yes, I'll warrant in only a few months' time you'll see how wise I
am and how sensible you have been to be guided by me. I never wished you
any harm, Mary Ann, believe me, my dear, I never did. And I hope, I do
hope so much that this money will make you happy. So, you see, you
mustn't go away with me now. You don't want everybody to talk of you as
they did of your brother Tom, do you, dear? Think what the vicar would
say."

But Mary Ann had broken down under the touch of his hand and the
gentleness of his tones.

"I was a dead leaf so long, I don't care!" she sobbed passionately.
"Nobody never bothered to call me wicked then. Why should I bother now?"

Beneath the mingled emotions her words caused him was a sense of surprise
at her recollection of his metaphor.

"Hush! You're a silly little child," he repeated sternly. "Hush! or
Mrs. Leadbatter will hear you." He went to the door and closed it
tightly. "Listen, Mary Ann! Let me tell you once for all, that even if
you were fool enough to be willing to go with me, I wouldn't take you
with me. It would be doing you a terri