omen. I just feel as though I had to take care of you--I feel as
though you ought to depend on me. Can't you believe that?"

"I ought not to believe that of any man," she broke out.

"Like enough, like enough," he nodded, "but you've known only one
man--that's your full horizon. Now, having had so hard a fight in
business, I have put marrying to one side. Let's not say that we're both
young--for we're not. But let's remember what I told you--there's a lot
of life left for you and me yet if you'll only say the word. Don't you
want to make anybody happy?"

"Oh, you mustn't say that to me!" said Aurora Lane. "But you would want
me to be honest, wouldn't you? You wouldn't want me to lie? Somehow,
I've never learned to lie very much."

"No," said he simply; "no, I reckon not. You never have."

"No matter what----"

"No matter what."

"Then tell me, how could I say I loved you now? For twenty years--all my
life--I have put that thought away from me. I'm old and cold now. My
heart's ashes, that part, can't you understand? And you're a man."

"Yes," he nodded, "I'm a man. That's so, Aurora. But now you're just
troubled. You've not had time to think. I've held my secret, too. I've
never spoken out to you before. I tell you, you're too good a woman to
be lost--that isn't right."

"You pity me!"

"Maybe. But I want to marry you, Aurora."

"What could I do--what could be done--where would you have any pay in
that?"

"Don't trouble about the pay. How much have the past twenty years paid
you?"

"Little enough," said she bitterly, "little enough. About all they've
given me--about all I've got left--is the boy. But I want to play fair."

"That's it," said he. "So do I. That's why I tell you you're too good
for me, when it comes to that, after all."

"Why, it would all have to come out--one way or the other. It all _has_
come out, as you say. We couldn't evade that now--it's too late. Here's
the proof--Dieudonne--and I can't deny him."

He nodded gravely. She went on:

"Everyone knows about the boy now--everybody knows he's--got no father.
_That's_ my boy. Too late now to explain--he's ruined all that by coming
here. And yet you ask me to marry you. If I did, one of two things
surely would be said, and either of them would make you wretched all
your life."

He turned to her and looked at her steadily.

"They might say I was the father?"

She nodded, flushing painfully. "They might guess. And a few might think