whatever Helen may have said, remember that it was all before I
knew--_you_."

Anne's hands shook in his as he said this. "Let me go," she cried, with
low, quick utterance; she dared not say more, lest her voice should
break into sobs.

"I will not," said Heathcote, "until you hear me while I tell you that I
have _not_ played a false part with you, Anne. I did begin it as an
experiment, I confess that I did; but I have ended by being in
earnest--at least to a certain degree. Helen does not know me entirely;
one side of me she has never even suspected."

"Mrs. Lorrington has not spoken on the subject," murmured Anne, feeling
compelled to set him right, but not looking up.

"Then what _has_ she said about me, that you should look as you do, my
poor child?"

"You take too much upon yourself," replied the girl, with an effort to
speak scornfully. "Why should you suppose we have talked of you?"

"I do not suppose it; I know it. I have not the heart to laugh at you,
Anne: your white face hurts me like a sharp pain. Will you at least tell
me that you do not believe I have been amusing myself at your
expense--that you do not believe I have been insincere?"

"I am glad to think that you were not wholly insincere."

"And you will believe also that I like you--like you very, very much,
with more than the ordinary liking?"

"That is nothing to me."

"Nothing to you? Look at me, Anne; you shall look once. Ah, my dear
child, do you not see that I can not help loving you? And that you--love
me also?" As he spoke he drew her close and looked down into her eyes,
those startled violet eyes, that met his at last--for one half-moment.

Then she sprang from him, and burst into tears. "Leave me," she said,
brokenly. "You are cruel."

"No; only human," answered Heathcote, not quite master of his words now.
"I have had your confession in that look, Anne, and you shall never
regret it."

"I regret it already," she cried, passionately; "I shall regret it all
my life. Do you not comprehend? can you not understand? I am
engaged--engaged to be married. I was engaged before we ever met."

"_You_ engaged, when I thought you hardly more than a child!" He had
been dwelling only upon himself and his own course; possibilities on the
other side had not occurred to him. They seldom do to much-admired men.

"I can not help what you thought me," replied Anne. At this moment they
heard a step on the piazza; some one had come forth to try th