in a
different light. It didn't seem like treachery to them--to father and
mother--then. It hasn't seemed like a--a marriage REALLY
marriage--until now."

Another long silence. Then she burst out appealingly: "Oh, I don't
see how I'm ever going to tell them!"

Scarborough came back to his chair and seated himself. His face was
curiously white. It was in an unnatural voice that he said: "How old
is he?"

"Twenty-five," she replied, then instantly flared up, as if he had
attacked Dumont: "But it wasn't his fault--not in the least. I knew
what I was doing--and I wanted to do it. You mustn't get a false
impression of him, Hampden. You'd admire and respect him. You--any
one--would have done as he did in the same circumstances." She blushed
slightly. "You and he are ever so much alike--even in looks. It was
that that made me tell you, that made me like you as I have--and trust
you."

Scarborough winced. Presently he began: "Yet you regret----"

"No--no!" she protested--too vehemently. "I do NOT regret marrying
him. That was certain to be sooner or later. All I regret is that I
did something that seems underhanded. Perhaps I'm really only sorry I
didn't tell them as soon as I'd done it."

She waited until she saw he was not going to speak. "And now," she
said, "I don't know HOW to tell them." Again she waited, but he did
not speak, continued to look steadily out into the sky. "What do you
think?" she asked nervously. "But I can see without your saying. Only
I--wish you'd SAY it."

"No, I don't condemn you," he said slowly. "I know you. YOU couldn't
possibly do anything underhanded. If you'd been where you'd have had
to conceal it directly, face to face, from some one who had the right
to know--you'd never have done it." He rested his arms on the table
and looked straight at her. "I feel I must tell you what I think. And
I feel, too, it wouldn't be fair and honest if I didn't let you see why
you might not want to take my advice."

She returned his gaze inquiringly.

"I love you," he went on calmly. "I've known it ever since I missed
you so at the Christmas holidays. I love you for what you are, and for
what you're as certain to be as--as a rosebud is certain to be a
full-blown rose. I love you as my father loved my mother. I shall
love you always." His manner was calm, matter-of-fact; but there was
in his musical, magical voice a certain quality which set her nerves
and her blood