ed."

Miss Sylvia broke down and sobbed. To appease her, I promised that I
would remodel the story, although I knew that the doing so would leave
it absolutely pointless.

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Miss Sylvia, her eyes shining through her
tears. "You see, I know it would make her happier--I know it. I'm
going to tell you my poor little story to convince you. But you--you
must not tell it to any of the others."

"I am sorry you think the admonition necessary," I said
reproachfully.

"Oh, I do not, indeed I do not," she hastened to assure me. "I know I
can trust you. But it's such a poor little story. You mustn't laugh at
it--it is all the romance I had. Years ago--forty years ago--when I
was a young girl of twenty, I--learned to care very much for somebody.
I met him at a summer resort like this. I was there with my aunt and
he was there with his mother, who was delicate. We saw a great deal of
each other for a little while. He was--oh, he was like no other man I
had ever seen. You remind me of him somehow. That is partly why I like
you so much. I noticed the resemblance the first time I saw you. I
don't know in just what it consists--in your expression and the way
you carry your head, I think. He was not strong--he coughed a good
deal. Then one day he went away--suddenly. I had thought he cared for
me, but he never said so--just went away. Oh, the shame of it! After a
time I heard that he had been ordered to California for his health.
And he died out there the next spring. My heart broke then, I never
cared for anybody again--I couldn't. I have always loved him. But it
would have been so much easier to bear if I had only known that he
loved me--oh, it would have made all the difference in the world. And
the sting of it has been there all these years. I can't even permit
myself the joy of dwelling on his memory because of the thought that
perhaps he did not care."

"He must have cared," I said warmly. "He couldn't have helped it, Miss
Sylvia."

Miss Sylvia shook her head with a sad smile.

"I cannot be sure. Sometimes I think he did. But then the doubt creeps
back again. I would give almost anything to know that he did--to know
that I have not lavished all the love of my life on a man who did not
want it. And I never can know, never--I can hope and almost believe,
but I can never know. Oh, you don't understand--a man couldn't fully
understand what my pain has been over it. You see now why I want you
to change th