arm around her. And I--" He cleared his throat,
his eyes, fortunately for his resolution, fixed upon the floor. "Well,
I might as well make a clean breast of it. I did kiss her. Of course
I ought to be ashamed--"

"Yes." Persis agreed icily. "You ought."

She had listened with a sort of sickened revolt to Thomas' stammered
confession. Nothing that Annabel Sinclair could do would surprise her,
nor did she wonder when boys of Thad West's age yielded to her lure.
But that this man, this staid, stanch Thomas, on whom she had counted
more implicitly than she knew, should have proved so easy a victim
shook her native faith in humankind. "All men are alike," thought
Persis, in her haste betrayed into one of those sweepingly unjust
generalizations such as King David penitently acknowledged.

Thomas' eyes came up from the carpet at her tone. He looked at her
with a sort of terror. The fixed sternness of her face made her seem a
stranger. Little as he had relished the idea of acknowledging his
bygone weakness, he had not dreamed of a result like this.

For a moment he gazed at her with dumb appeal, then faltered: "I
was--was afraid you'd be disgusted with me, Persis."

"I am."

He swallowed hard as if her answer were a mouthful that resisted
mastication. For a little they sat silent. Persis picked up her work
and resumed her sewing with a brave show of indifference though the
seam ran into a blur before her eyes. And at last Thomas spoke.

"I'm sorry you take it this way, Persis, but it couldn't be helped. I
had to clear up things before--I didn't feel it would be fair to ask
you anything that would bind you till you knew the worst about me. And
now--"

There was another long silence. Then Thomas found himself upon his
feet, feeling for his hat, groping like a blind man.

"Good-by, Persis. I wish I'd been a better man. But the fact is I
ain't fit to tie your shoe-strings, and that ends it. Good-by."

He held out his hand, a formality unprecedented. She realized that he
meant it for good-by, not good night. Some perversity kept her eyes
upon her work, her hands occupied.

"Good-by, Thomas."

The door creaked ajar. There was a pause. It closed reluctantly. She
heard him stumble at the steps, go haltingly down the path. She
stabbed the fabric in her hand with her needle as if that minute tool
had been a weapon.

"Men are all alike," repeated Persis, the tears running down her
cheeks. "But