what a question! You ... you _know_ the answer."

"I think I do." She nodded her head with a grave certainty. "I'm sure
I do. ... You _don't_ want me, Stanor!"

He started at that, and his hands relaxed their hold. The dull red
flush mounted once more to his forehead, his lips twitched, and twitched
again. The man was suffering, and the marks of his pain were plain to
read.

"Why ... should you say that? Pixie, what is it? I explained about
that extra six months. ... You said you understood. It was part of the
agreement that we were not to write except on occasions. Were my
letters wrong? Didn't they please you? I was never a good hand at
letter-writing. Was that it? What was it? What have I done, Pixie, to
make you doubt me?"

"I don't think," said Pixie dreamily, "you have done anything." It
seemed for a moment as if she had nothing more to say, then suddenly she
asked another question: "Stanor! That day in Liverpool, on the
landing-stage, did you notice a girl standing near me--a girl with a fur
cap?"

"No, Pixie. I noticed only one girl--yourself!"

"She was parting from a man--her lover or husband--who was leaning over
the rail and looking down at her. Stanor ... they ... _cared_! They
loved each other. ... All these years I have had their faces in my
heart. I looked at them, and I looked at you, and I understood the
difference!"

"I was miserable enough, Pixie. All men do not show their feelings in
the same way."

"I knew you were sorry. I was sorry, too. ... I'm not blaming you.
I've no right to blame you. I have waited for you, and you've come
back. You have asked me to marry you. Stanor!" She clasped his arms
with her hands, her eyes intently gazing into his. "I'll tell you the
truth about myself.--I was a child when you went away. I didn't know
how to love. Now I do! If you love me, Stanor, with your whole heart
and soul, more than any one in the world, more than _anything_ in the
world, then marry me, dear, and I'll make you happy! If you don't ...
if there is any doubt in your mind, if there is some one else who has
grown nearer to you while you've been away--I shouldn't be angry,
Stanor, only," her voice shook, a quiver passed over the upturned face,
"please tell me _now_! Be honest! It's for all our lives, remember.
... We've no right to spoil our lives. God gave them to us; we're
responsible to Him. _It will_ spoil them, Stanor, if there's not real,
real