could not bring herself to
pronounce Ransom's name, and at the moment no other way of refuting her
companion's statement occurred to her.

The young man leaned back luxuriously, reassured by her silence.

"You see it's my last chance--and I want to make the most of it."

"Your last chance?" How stupid of her to repeat his words on that
cooing note of interrogation! It was just such a lead as the Brant girl
might have given him.

"To be with you--like this. I haven't had so many. And there's less
than a week left."

She attempted to laugh. "Perhaps it will sound longer if you call it
five days."

The flatness of that, again! And she knew there were people who called
her intelligent. Fortunately he did not seem to notice it; but her
laugh continued to sound in her own ears--the coquettish chirp of
middle age! She decided that if he spoke again--if he _said
anything_--she would make no farther effort at evasion: she would take
it directly, seriously, frankly--she would not be doubly disloyal.

"Besides," he continued, throwing his arm along the back of the bench,
and turning toward her so that his face was like a dusky bas-relief
with a silver rim--"besides, there's something I've been wanting to
tell you."

The sound of the river seemed to cease altogether: the whole world
became silent.

Margaret had trusted her inspiration farther than it appeared likely to
carry her. Again she could think of nothing happier than to repeat, on
the same witless note of interrogation: "To tell me?"

"You only."

The constraint, the difficulty, seemed to be on his side now: she
divined it by the renewed shifting of his attitude--he was capable,
usually, of such fine intervals of immobility--and by a confusion in
his utterance that set her own voice throbbing in her throat.

"You've been so perfect to me," he began again. "It's not my fault if
you've made me feel that you would understand everything--make
allowances for everything--see just how a man may have held out, and
fought against a thing--as long as he had the strength.... This may be
my only chance; and I can't go away without telling you."

He had turned from her now, and was staring at the river, so that his
profile was projected against the moonlight in all its beautiful young
dejection.

There was a slight pause, as though he waited for her to speak; then
she leaned forward and laid her hand on his.

"If I have really been--if I have done for you even the le