said Damaris at last, "by that love which
understanding can forgive even--even _her_ trouble?"

And to Ben Kelham came the tweeny's seventh-heaven glimpse of the
understanding of real love.

He rose and swept Damaris, a-thrill at the mastery, into his arms,
where he held her as he might have held a child.

"That, dear,"--and he spoke choosing the simplest words, just because
he knew no others, "that means that if you said you loved me, and I--if
I ever found you in a--how shall I put it?--in--no matter how
compromising a situation--that I should love you just the same, because
I should know that, although to all appearances you--you might have
sinned, yet the real you, the pure, honourable, perfect woman in you,
could not show the smallest stain. Do you understand?"

"Almost," whispered the girl, as she lay still in the arms that held
her as a child.

"You've _got_ to understand. Listen! It may sound brutal, but you've
got to understand my love for you. Supposing you disappeared, as
Englishwomen do sometimes in the East. Supposing I searched, and found
you, and you--you were--you were like the little tweeny girl. What
should I do? Why, Damaris, unless you came to me and confessed to sin,
I'd marry you, loving you, understanding you, without asking any
questions."

"Without asking any explanation?"

"Yes, dear. Yes. Because I love you----"

"And you would forgive me?"

"But, dear, there wouldn't be any need for forgiveness; the real, pure
you would not have done anything wrong."

Then he blundered.

Like most big men, he was diffident; he underestimated the attraction
of his strength allied to a very gentle courtesy; in fact, bound up in
his love for Damaris, he had never given it a thought excepting to
curse the awkwardness of his body and the slowness of his speech. He
knew nothing of the honesty which looked out of the eyes; the quiet
strength of his movements and speech; the feeling of confidence he
inspired.

He was not given to self-analysis; he loved the sun in the heavens, the
grass under foot and the traditions of his house too much to waste time
on that kind of thing.

So that, fearing to have hurt the girl or bored the girl, he plumped
her on her feet, when he could have won her and saved her and others,
including himself, a mint of pain if he had only just crushed her up to
his heart and kissed her.

She stood quite still, with that dazed little feeling which falls upon
one who h