you didn't mean it."

"Oh, I was foul," he groaned, and turned his head away again.

"But don't grieve so over it, darling; it's over now," she said softly,
and took his face between her hands and kissed it. Its bronze beauty and
the memory that she had struck it pierced her, and she cried, "Oh, my
love, say I didn't hurt you when I hit you!"

He broke into anguished laughter. "No, you wee little thing!" He
strained her to him and faltered vehemently: "You generous dear! When
I've insulted and bullied you and shouted at you, you ask me if you've
hurt me! I wish you had. It would have given me some of the punishment I
deserve. Oh, keep me, you wonderful, strong, forgiving dear! Keep me
from being a hound, keep me from forgetting--whatever it is we've found
out. You've seen what I'm like when I've forgotten it. Oh, love me! Love
me!"

"I will, I will!"

They clung together and spent themselves in reconciling kisses.

"It was my fault, too," she whispered. "I was awful hard on you. And
maybe I took you up too quick."

"No, it was all my fault," he answered softly. "I was worried and I lost
my head."

"Worried? What are you worried about, my darling? You never told me
that."

"Oh, there's nothing to tell, really. It's not a definite worry. It's to
do"--his dark eyes left her and travelled among the gathering shadows of
the room--"with my mother."

If he had kissed her now he would not have found her lips so soft. "Your
mother?" she repeated.

"Yes," he said petulantly. It struck her that there was something
infantile about his tone, a shade of resentment much as a child might
feel against its nurse. "She's been the centre of my whole life. And now
... I don't know whether she cares for me at all. I don't believe she
ever cared for anybody but my father. It's puzzling."

His eyes were fixed on the shadows. He had quite forgotten her. She
leant back on the pillows, closing her eyes to try and master a feeling
of faintness, and stretched out her hand towards his lips.

He dropped a kiss on it and went on: "So, you see, I fell back on you
for consolation, and somehow at that moment love went out of me. It's
funny the change it makes in everything. I became--so conventional. When
you ran in here and slammed the door on me, I didn't follow you because
I was conscious that I oughtn't to come into your room. Afterwards,
when suddenly I loved you again and I wanted to come and be forgiven by
you, I didn't care a da