ging to get away right away, somewhere beyond the reach of staring
eyes and cruel tongues. One evening years ago, she remembered coming out
of St. James's Hall with Tom, and having heard a woman in Regent Street
insulted in precisely the same language that had been used to her today.
She remembered how the shrill, passionate cry had rung down the street:
"How dare you insult me!" And remembered, too, how she had wondered
whether perfect innocence would have been able to give that retort. She
knew now that her surmise had been correct. The insult had struck her
dumb for the time. Even now, as the words returned to her with a pain
intolerable, her tears rained down. It seemed to her that for once she
could no more help crying than she could have helped bleeding when cut.

Then once more her thoughts returned to Brian with a warmth of gratitude
which in itself relieved her. He was a man worth knowing, a friend worth
having. Yet how awful his face had looked as he came toward her. Only
once in her whole life had she seen such a look on a man's face. She had
seen it in her childhood on her father's face, when he had first heard
of a shameful libel which affected those nearest and dearest to him.
She had been far too young to understand the meaning of it, but she well
remembered that silent, consuming wrath; she remembered running away by
herself with the sort of half-fearful delight of a child's new discovery
"Now I know how men look when they KILL!"

All at once, in the light of that old recollection, the truth dashed
upon her. She smiled through her tears, a soft glow stole over her face,
a warmth found its way to her aching heart. For at last the love of
seven years had found its way to her.

She felt all in a glad tumult as that perception came to her. It had, in
truth, been an afternoon of revelations. She had never until now in the
least understood Brian's character, never in the least appreciated
him. And as to dreaming that his friendship had been love from the very
first, it had never occurred to her.

The revelation did not bring her unalloyed happiness for there came a
sharp pang as she recollected what he had gone back to do. What if
he should get into trouble on her behalf? What if he should be hurt?
Accustomed always to fear for her father actual physical injury, her
thoughts at once flew to the same danger for Brian. But, however sick
with anxiety, she was obliged, on reaching home, to try and copy out her