t of legal housekeeper."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would look upon it as an impertinence. I
didn't mean to say anything offensive. It struck me as a possible way
out of the difficulty. You would, at all events, be happier than you are
here."

"It is you who despise me now!"

"Mary!"

"I can bear pain. It's not the first humiliation I have suffered. It is
very simple, and there's no reason why we should make a fuss about it.
You thought you loved me, and you asked me to marry you. I don't know
whether you ever really loved me; you certainly don't now, and you wish
me to release you. You know that I cannot and will not refuse."

"I see no way out of it, Mary," he said, hoarsely. "I wish to God I did!
It's frightfully cruel to you."

"I can bear it. I don't blame you. It's not your fault. God will give me
strength." Mary thought of her mother's cruel sympathy. Her parents
would have to be told that James had cast her aside like a plaything he
was tired of. "God will give me strength."

"I'm so sorry, Mary," cried James, kneeling by her side. "You'll have to
suffer dreadfully; and I can't think how to make it any better for you."

"There is no way. We must tell them the whole truth, and let them say
what they will."

"Would you like me to go away from Primpton?"

"Why?"

"It might make it easier for you."

"Nothing can make it easier. I can face it out. And I don't want you to
run away and hide yourself as if you had done something to be ashamed
of. And your people want you. Oh, Jamie, you will be as gentle with them
as you can, won't you? I'm afraid it will--disappoint them very much."

"They had set their hearts upon our marriage."

"I'm afraid they'll feel it a good deal. But it can't be helped.
Anything is better than a loveless marriage."

James was profoundly touched that at the time of her own bitter grief,
Mary could think of the pain of others.

"I wish I had your courage, Mary. I've never seen such strength."

"It's well that I have some qualities. I haven't the power to make you
love me, and I deserve something to make up."

"Oh, Mary, don't speak like that! I do love you! There's no one for whom
I have a purer, more sincere affection. Why won't you take me with what
I can offer? I promise that you will never regret it. You know exactly
what I am now--weak, but anxious to do right. Why shouldn't we be
married? Perhaps things may change. Who can tell what time may bring
about?"

"It'