limmerings of self-respect, I must act
like a man. Upon what grounds did I found the hope that Fulton would
not soon find out about Lucy and me? Why, on the grounds of moral
cowardice, of course. I dreaded to face any drastic, final issue.
There was no other reason. Well, if I was to prove to myself that I
was not a moral coward, Fulton must be told and the issue faced, and
Fulton himself must be out-faced. It was not enough to love and be
loved in secret. That way lies stealing and cheating. We must come
into the open hand in hand, proclaim our love and demand our rights.
If these were denied us--well, it would be too bad. But at least we
would have come out from under the rose, and the consequences could be
flung openly and courageously in the faces of those who denied us. And
it would be fairer to Fulton to tell him. He was suffering torment.
With a definite cause to face, it would be easier for him to regain his
health and his sanity.

Strong in these resolutions, I felt as if a great weight had been
lifted from my shoulders. But if you think that I went at once to
Fulton and told him, you have greatly misapprehended the mental
workings of a butterfly.

I went first to Lucy, and told her that I was going to tell. And from
her, too, it was as if a weight had been lifted.

"We can't go on this way forever," I said; "we thought we could, but we
know we can't. We love each other and we're human, and sooner or
later--Oh, it's best to go to him now with a clean bill, and tell him
that love is too strong for us all, and that he must come out on the
side of love no matter how much it hurts him."

"When are you going to tell him?"

"No time like the present, Lucy."

And I drew a long breath, for in spite of the bold words, I felt
panicky. I felt as if the doctors had just set the time for the
operation, and that it was sooner than I expected.

"We ought to have told him long ago. Where is he?"

"In the garden."

"It's a hard thing to do. Give me a kiss."

A moment later I felt strong enough and noble enough to slay dragons.
And I found Fulton sitting on a garden bench in a recess of clipped
privet, Hurry on his lap.

"She isn't feeling very well, poor baby," he said; "it's the sudden
heat. She couldn't eat any breakfast. Did you want to see me about
something special?"

"Why, yes, I do. But you're busy with Hurry."

"We were just going in to lie down, weren't we?" he said to the child.
"I