But she
drew back, flinching.

"I see," he said. "Then you do not forgive me."

"If you had come to me, and told me of your temptation--of your
sin--three years ago, I would have forgiven you then. I would have taken
you back. I cannot now. Not willingly, not with the feeling that I ought
to have."

She spoke humbly, gently, as if aware that she was giving him pain. Her
face was averted. He said nothing; and she turned and faced him.

"Of course you can compel me," she said. "You can compel me to anything."

"I have never compelled you, as you know."

"I know. I know you have been good in that way."

"Good? Is that your only notion of goodness?"

"Good to me, Walter. Yes. You were very good. I do not say that I will
not go back to you; but if I do, you must understand plainly, that it
will be for one reason only. Because I desire to save you from yourself.
To save some other woman, perhaps--"

"You can let the other woman take care of herself. As for me, I
appreciate your generosity, but I decline to be saved on those terms.
I'm fastidious about a few things, and that's one of them. What you are
trying to tell me is that you do not care for me."

She lifted her face. "Walter, I have never in all my life deceived you. I
do not care for you. Not in that way."

He smiled. "Well, I'll be content so long as you care for me in any
way--your way. I think your way's a mistake; but I won't insist on that.
I'll do my best to adapt my way to yours, that's all."

Her face was very still. Under their deep lids her eyes brooded, as if
trying to see the truth inside herself.

"No--no," she moaned. "I haven't told you the truth. I believe there
is _no_ way in which I can care for you again. Or--well--I can care
perhaps--I'm caring now--but--"

"I see. You do not love me."

She shook her head. "No. I know what love is, and--I do not love you."

"If you don't love me, of course there's nothing more to be said."

"Yes, there is. There's one thing that I have kept from you."

"Well," he said, "you may as well let me have it. There's no good keeping
things from me."

"I had meant to spare you."

At that he laughed. "Oh, don't spare me."

She still hesitated.

"What is it?"

She spoke low.

"If you had been here--that night--Peggy would not have died."

He drew a quick breath. "What makes you think that?" he said quietly.

"She overstrained her heart with crying. As you know. She was crying for
you. And you