to tell you," she went on. "Father has given Palmer five
thousand dollars. He's going to buy a share in a business."

"That's fine."

"Possibly. I don't believe much in Palmer's business ventures."

Her flat tone still held him. Underneath it he divined strain and
repression.

"I hate to go and leave you alone," he said at last from the door. "Have
you any idea when Palmer will be back?"

"Not the slightest. K., will you come here a moment? Stand behind me; I
don't want to see you, and I want to tell you something."

He did as she bade him, rather puzzled.

"Here I am."

"I think I am a fool for saying this. Perhaps I am spoiling the only
chance I have to get any happiness out of life. But I have got to say
it. It's stronger than I am. I was terribly unhappy, K., and then you
came into my life, and I--now I listen for your step in the hall. I
can't be a hypocrite any longer, K."

When he stood behind her, silent and not moving, she turned slowly about
and faced him. He towered there in the little room, grave eyes on hers.

"It's a long time since I have had a woman friend, Christine," he said
soberly. "Your friendship has meant a good deal. In a good many
ways, I'd not care to look ahead if it were not for you. I value our
friendship so much that I--"

"That you don't want me to spoil it," she finished for him. "I know
you don't care for me, K., not the way I--But I wanted you to know. It
doesn't hurt a good man to know such a thing. And it--isn't going to
stop your coming here, is it?"

"Of course not," said K. heartily. "But to-morrow, when we are both
clear-headed, we will talk this over. You are mistaken about this thing,
Christine; I am sure of that. Things have not been going well, and just
because I am always around, and all that sort of thing, you think things
that aren't really so. I'm only a reaction, Christine."

He tried to make her smile up at him. But just then she could not smile.

If she had cried, things might have been different for every one; for
perhaps K. would have taken her in his arms. He was heart-hungry enough,
those days, for anything. And perhaps, too, being intuitive, Christine
felt this. But she had no mind to force him into a situation against his
will.

"It is because you are good," she said, and held out her hand.
"Good-night."

Le Moyne took it and bent over and kissed it lightly. There was in
the kiss all that he could not say of respect, of affection and
understa