ery!

He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught his, and
she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, "Why, how do you do?"

George had to face her. "How do you do?" he responded, weakly.

She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not much
welcome in his clasp. "Where have you been keeping yourself?" she asked.
Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good-naturedly, "What's the matter?
You don't seem glad to see me."

The girl--Therese was her name--had a little package under her arm, as
if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as when George had
met her before, and doubtless she thought that was the reason for his
lack of cordiality. This made him rather ashamed, and so, only half
realizing what he was doing, he began to stroll along with her.

"Why did you never come to see me again?" she asked.

George hesitated. "I--I--" he stammered--"I've been married since then."

She laughed. "Oh! So that's it!" And then, as they came to a bench under
some trees, "Won't you sit down a while?" There was allurement in her
glance, but it made George shudder. It was incredible to him that he
had ever been attracted by this crude girl. The spell was now broken
completely.

She quickly saw that something was wrong. "You don't seem very
cheerful," she said. "What's the matter?"

And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, "Don't you know what
you did to me?"

"What I did to you?" Therese repeated wonderingly.

"You must know!" he insisted.

And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. "Why--" she
stammered.

There was silence between them. When George spoke again his voice was
low and trembling. "You ruined my whole life," he said--"not only mine,
but my family's. How could you do it?"

She strove to laugh it off. "A cheerful topic for an afternoon stroll!"

For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a whisper, he
repeated, "How could you do it?"

"Some one did it to me first," was the response. "A man!"

"Yes," said George, "but he didn't know."

"How can you tell whether he knew or not?"

"You knew?" he inquired, wonderingly.

Therese hesitated. "Yes, I knew," she said at last, defiantly. "I have
known for years."

"And I'm not the only man."

She laughed. "I guess not!"

There followed a long pause. At last he resumed, "I don't want to blame
you; there's nothing to be gained by that; it's done, and can't
be undone. But sometimes I wonder