ou weren't--really in earnest."

He smiled at that with a touch of cynicism. "Did you think I was amusing
myself--or you? Sit down again, won't you? There is no occasion whatever
for you to be distressed. I assure you that you are in no way to blame."

"I am dreadfully sorry," Avery repeated.

"That's nice of you. I had scarcely dared to flatter myself that you
would be--glad. So you see, you have really nothing to reproach yourself
with. I am no worse off than I was before."

She put out her hand to him with a quick, confiding gesture. "You are
very kind to put it in that way. I value your friendship so much, so very
much. Yes, and I value your love too. It's not a small thing to me. Only,
you know--you know--" she faltered a little--"I've been married before,
and--though I loved my husband--my married life was a tragedy. Oh yes, he
loved me too. It wasn't that sort of misery. It was--it was drink."

"Poor girl!" said Tudor.

He spoke with unwonted gentleness, and he held her hand with the utmost
kindness. There was nothing of the rejected lover in his attitude. He
was man enough to give her his first sympathy.

Avery's lips were quivering. She went on with a visible effort. "He died
a violent death. He was killed in a quarrel with another man. I was told
it was an accident, but it didn't seem like that to me. And--it had an
effect on me. It made me hard--made me bitter."

"You, Avery!" Tudor's voice was gravely incredulous.

She turned her face to the fire, and he saw on her lashes the gleam of
tears. "I've never told anyone that; but it's the truth. It seemed to me
that life was cruel, mainly because of men's vices. And women were
created only to go under. It was a horrid sort of feeling to have, but it
has never wholly left me. I don't think I could ever face marriage a
second time."

"Oh yes, you could," said Tudor, quietly, "if you loved the man."

She shook her head. "I am too old to fall in love. I have somehow
missed the romance of life. I know what it is, but it will never come
to me now."

"And you won't marry without?" he said.

"No."

There fell a pause; then, still with the utmost quietness, he
relinquished her hand. "I think you are right," he said. "Marriage
without love on both sides is a ship without ballast. Yet, I can't help
thinking that you are mistaken in your idea that you have lost the
capacity for that form of love. You may know what it is. Most women do.
But I wonder if you ha