again Blossom was on guard.

"I shall not forget you," I said, and I folded my arms with grim
determination and fixed my eyes on her face to break her by mere
will-power. And then to what untruth did pride drive me? "I have not
changed. I shall never change, Gladys. I love you now more than ever,
and I will not give you up."

The light in her eyes was not quite so cold, nor was her voice so even
and at her command. "I am sorry, David, but you must."

"But I won't," I returned.

"Oh, why do you drive me to it?" she cried with a gesture of despair.
"Can't you see, David, that there is some one else to be considered?"

"Some one else?" I exclaimed.

"I didn't think you would be so ungenerous--so selfish," she said in a
low voice, while her hands played rapidly over Blossom's head. "I have
tried to be honorable and fair to you. But he was so kind, so good--he
is so lonely----"

"He--who is he?" I demanded, in my anger abandoning all effort to hold
to the honorable course to which I had set myself.

"You should not ask me," she replied, her voice growing hard. "After I
had come to know him, to know how fine he was, I really tried to keep
on caring for you, David, but I simply couldn't. I am fond of you, of
course, but not in the way I thought. You are too young. It is a
mistake for a woman to marry a man of her own age. She should marry
one whom she can look up to, honor and respect. Love in a cottage is
well enough to read of, I suppose, but enduring love must be built on
something more."

I wanted to laugh at myself for the fool I had been. I arose. It was
useless to sit longer with folded arms and determined eyes fixed on her
face, to break her will by hypnotic power. I knew that I was defeated,
and however better defeat might be than victory, judged in wisdom, it
was not pleasant to a man of spirit. I stood before her pulling on a
glove and she looked up at me with a suggestion of defiance. I was not
heart-broken. I felt that I should be, but I knew that I was suffering
only in my pride. I wanted to sit down again in friendly fashion and
tell her how hard I had tried to do my duty, that I too loved another,
and that now she had made the way easy for me, but I refrained from
such petty revenge.

I held out my hand. "I wish you all happiness, Gladys," I said. "You
must not trouble about me. No doubt you have chosen wisely."

"You are a dear, good boy, David," she said, rising and addres