ing me," he added
with a quiver, "as freely as I do."

You will scarcely believe this, but a few minutes afterwards, Grizel
having been the first to leave, he saw her from the garden going, not
home, but in the direction of Corp's house, obviously to ask him
whether Tommy had done it. Tommy guessed her intention at once, and he
laughed a bitter ho-ho-ha, and wiped her from his memory.

"Farewell, woman; I am done with you," are the terrible words you may
conceive Tommy saying. Next moment, however, he was hurriedly bidding
his hostess good-night, could not even wait for Elspeth, clapped his
hat on his head, and was off after Grizel. It had suddenly struck him
that, now the rest of the story was out, Corp might tell her about the
glove. Suppose Gavinia showed it to her!

Sometimes he had kissed that glove passionately, sometimes pressed his
lips upon it with the long tenderness that is less intoxicating but
makes you a better man; but now, for the first time, he asked himself
bluntly why he had done those things, with the result that he was
striding to Corp's house. It was not only for his own sake that he
hurried; let us do him that justice. It was chiefly to save Grizel the
pain of thinking that he whom she had been flouting loved her, as she
must think if she heard the story of the glove. That it could be
nothing but pain to her he was boyishly certain, for assuredly this
scornful girl wanted none of his love. And though she was scornful,
she was still the dear companion of his boyhood. Tommy was honestly
anxious to save Grizel the pain of thinking that she had flouted a man
who loved her.

He took a different road from hers, but, to his annoyance, they met at
Couthie's corner. He would have passed her with a distant bow, but she
would have none of that. "You have followed me," said Grizel, with
the hateful directness that was no part of Tommy's character.

"Grizel!"

"You followed me to see whether I was going to question Corp. You were
afraid he would tell me what really happened. You wanted to see him
first to tell him what to say."

"Really, Grizel--"

"Is it not true?"

There are no questions so offensive to the artistic nature as those
that demand a Yes or No for answer. "It is useless for me to say it is
not true," he replied haughtily, "for you won't believe me."

"Say it and I shall believe you," said she.

Tommy tried standing on the other foot, but it was no help. "I presume
I may have reaso