ll you about him."

Gertie waited, as she went on, for a relaxation in the pleasant hold on
her arm, but this did not come. When she had said the last word, he
nodded.

"I knew all about this long before you did," he said. "The information
came from my sister-in-law. She had discovered the facts, and felt
disappointed, I think, to find that I was not greatly impressed. Of
course, you're not responsible for his actions any more than I can be
held liable for the behaviour of Jim Langham. Jim is a much worse nut
than your father; he hasn't any excuse for his conduct. Forged his
sister's name to a big cheque, and, naturally, he has disappeared. I
am giving him time to get away before I say anything about it to her."

"May be leaving England now, I suppose?"

"I hope so; but we needn't bother about him. Let us talk about
ourselves, just as we used to do. Do you remember, dear girl?"

"I recollect it," she admitted. "Every moment, and every step, and
every word. It will always be something good for me to look back upon,
when I'm older."

He bent down to her. "We'll look back upon it together," he said
affectionately.

"No!"

The official to whom Henry had been speaking begged pardon for
interrupting; the train, he announced, would be about five minutes
late. Gertie thanked him with a glance that, at any honestly managed
exchange office, could be converted into bank notes.

"Has your view of me altered, then?" he asked.

"My view of you," she replied steadily, "is exactly the same that it
always has been, ever since I first met you. I like you better--oh, a
lot better--than any one else in the world, and I know that if you
married me you'd do all you could to make me happy and comfortable.
But I shouldn't be happy and comfortable. I've got to look forward;
and when I do that, there's no use in shutting my eyes. I can see
quite clearly what would happen. You'd have this large house down in
the country, and you would ask friends there, and I should make
blunders, and, sooner or later, you'd be certain to feel ashamed of me."

"I don't agree, dear," he said with emphasis. "Anyhow let us try the
experiment. I am sure you overestimate the distance between us. Think
how well we used to get along together."

"If life was all summer evenings and Primrose Hill," she remarked, "I
might stand a chance. But it isn't. Your life is going to be that of
a country gentleman in Berkshire; my life is going to