kind man."

"Oh! a most honourable, kind man." But only by pressing her hand against
her lips had she smothered a burst of bitter laughter. He, who saw
nothing, could yet notice Fort's eyes when he looked at Noel, and be
positive that he was in love with her! How plainly those eyes must
speak! Her control gave way.

"All this is very interesting," she said, spurning her words like Noel,
"considering that he's more than my friend, Edward." It gave her a sort
of pleasure to see him wince. 'These blind bats!' she thought, terribly
stung that he should so clearly assume her out of the running. Then she
was sorry, his face had become so still and wistful. And turning away,
she said:

"Oh! I shan't break my heart; I'm a good loser. And I'm a good fighter,
too; perhaps I shan't lose." And snapping off a sprig of geranium, she
pressed it to her lips.

"Forgive me," said Pierson slowly; "I didn't know. I'm stupid. I thought
your love for your poor soldiers had left no room for other feelings."

Leila uttered a shrill laugh. "What have they to do with each other? Did
you never hear of passion, Edward? Oh! Don't look at me like that. Do
you think a woman can't feel passion at my age? As much as ever, more
than ever, because it's all slipping away."

She took her hand from her lips, but a geranium petal was left clinging
there, like a bloodstain. "What has your life been all these years,"
she went on vehemently--"suppression of passion, nothing else! You monks
twist Nature up with holy words, and try to disguise what the eeriest
simpleton can see. Well, I haven't suppressed passion, Edward. That's
all."

"And are you happier for that?"

"I was; and I shall be again."

A little smile curled Pierson's lips. "Shall be?" he said. "I hope so.
It's just two ways of looking at things, Leila."

"Oh, Edward! Don't be so gentle! I suppose you don't think a person like
me can ever really love?"

He was standing before her with his head down, and a sense that, naive
and bat-like as he was, there was something in him she could not reach
or understand, made her cry out:

"I've not been nice to you. Forgive me, Edward! I'm so unhappy."

"There was a Greek who used to say: 'God is the helping of man by man.'
It isn't true, but it's beautiful. Good-bye, dear Leila, and don't be
sorrowful."

She squeezed his hand, and turned to the window.

She stood there watching his black figure cross the road in the
sunshine, and pass round t