us all--about him, principally. I can't tell you. I really
can't."

"About him--and my mother? That they were married and separated?"

The steady innocent eyes had waited for him to look up again. He started
as he heard her words.

"You don't mean to say that you know it too?" he cried. "Who has dared
to tell you?"

"My mother--she was quite right. It's wrong to hide such things--she
ought to have told me at once. Why shouldn't I have known it?"

"Doesn't it seem horrible to you? Don't you dislike me more than ever?"

"No. Why should I? It wasn't your fault. What has it to do with you? Or
with me? Is that the reason why you are going away so suddenly?"

Brook stared at her in surprise, and the dawn of returning gladness was
in his face for a moment.

"We have a right to live, whatever they did in their day," said Clare.
"There is no reason why you should go away like this, at a moment's
notice."

With an older woman he would have understood the first time, but he did
not dare to understand Clare, nor to guess that there was anything to be
understood.

"Of course we have a right to live," he answered, in a constrained tone.
"But that does not mean that I may stay here and make your life a
burden. So I'm going away. It was quite different before I knew all
this. Please don't stay out here--you'll get a sunstroke. I only wanted
to say good-bye."

Man-like, having his courage at the striking-point, he wished to get it
all over quickly and be off. The colour sank from Clare's face again,
and she stood quite still for a moment, looking at him. "Good-bye," he
said, holding out his hand, and trying hard to smile a little.

Clare looked at him still, but her hand did not meet his, though he
waited, holding it out to her. Her face hardened as though she were
making an effort, then softened again, and still he waited.

"Won't you say good-bye to me?" he asked unsteadily.

She hesitated a moment longer.

"No!" she answered suddenly. "I--I can't!"

* * * * *

And here the story comes to its conclusion, as many stories out of the
lives of men and women seem to end at what is only their turning-point.
For real life has no conclusion but real death, and that is a sad ending
to a tale, and one which may as well be left to the imagination when it
is possible.

Stories of strange things, which really occur, very rarely have what
used to be called a "moral" either. All sorts of things h