crossed my humble path I think I should have possessed enough sentiment
for David to have been--the reward."

"But there _was_ no understanding."

"No. Not in so many words. But at the last talk we had together he was
humble and pathetic and rather manly, and I did a very foolish thing."

"What?"

"Oh," she said with a blush, "I sat still."

"Let me blot it out," said McAllen, drawing her very close.

"But I can only remember up to seven," said she, "and I am afraid that
nothing can blot them out as far as David is concerned. He will come
to-morrow as sure that I have been faithful to him as that he has been
faithful to me.... It's all very dreadful.... He will pay me back the
money, and the interest; and then I shall give him back the promises
that he gave, and then he will make love to me...."

She sighed, and said that the thought of the pickle she had got herself
into made her temples ache. McAllen kissed them for her.

"But why," he said, "when you got to care for me, didn't you let this
young man learn gradually in your letters to him that--that it was all
off?"

"I was afraid, don't you see," said she, "that if the incentive was
suddenly taken away from him--he might go to pieces. And I was fond of
him, and I am proud to think that he has made good for my sake, and the
letters.... Oh, Billy, it's a dreadful mess. My letters to him have been
rather warm, I am afraid."

"Damn!" said McAllen.

"Damn!" said Miss Tennant.

"If he would have gone to pieces before this," said McAllen, "why not
now?--after you tell him, I mean."

"Why not?" said she dismally. "But if he does, Billy, I can only be
dreadfully sorry. I'm certainly not going to wreck our happiness just to
keep him on the war-path."

"But you'll not be weak, Dolly?"

"How!--weak?"

"He'll be very sad and miserable--you won't be carried away? You won't,
upon the impulse of the moment, feel that it is your duty to go on
saving him?... If that should happen, Dolly, _I_ should go to pieces."

"Must I tell him," she said, "that I never really cared? He will think
me such a--a liar. And I'm not a liar, Billy, am I? I'm just unlucky."

"I don't believe," said he tenderly, "that you ever told a story in your
whole sweet life."

"Oh," she cried, "I _do_ love you when you say things like that to
me.... Let's not talk about horrid things any more, and mistakes, and
bugbears.... If we're going to show up at the golf club tea.... It's
Mrs. Carrol'