his heart sank.

If only she would be content to leave things as they were; if only she
would accept the friendship he was willing to give and close the book
of the past for ever.

He did not understand that it was because she cared for him so much
that at the risk of losing her self-respect and pride she must ask him
for the truth, must know ...

He heard her catch her breath, then suddenly she spoke:

"Micky ... why was it? What have I done?"

There was a quiver in her voice that set him on edge; he could not
stand the sound of unhappiness in any woman's voice, and he had once
thought he loved Marie....

He answered without looking at her, realising that it was kinder to
tell the truth out and have done with it.

"I meant to have written to you--I hope some day you will try and
forgive me, but ... but...." He could not go on for the life of him,
but he had said enough, and he knew that she understood.

"You mean ... you mean that there is some one else?" she asked with
stiff lips.

"Yes." He looked at her white, stricken face, and felt himself a
brute.

It seemed an eternity before she could steady her voice enough to
speak.

"Is it--is it some one I know?"

"No, dear," said Micky very gently. "It isn't any one you have ever
seen----"

She picked up her big muff suddenly and held it so that her face was
hidden; the little word of endearment that had escaped Micky's lips
had almost broken her down. This was the end of all she had ever hoped
for, and for the moment she could not choke the anguish in her heart.

The following silence seemed unending; then she looked round for her
gloves, and put them on, buttoning them with shaking fingers.

"I am ready if you are," she said. She did not look at him, but it
felt like dying to walk beside him out of the shop and into the cold
air and know that perhaps this was the last time they would ever be
alone, he and she. Once her steps faltered a little, and Micky put out
his hand to steady her, but she drew away from him.

"Please don't," she said in a whisper.

There was a taxi waiting at the roadside, and Micky called to the man.
There was a slight cold drizzle of rain falling as he held open the
door. He would have followed but she stopped him. "I should like to go
alone, if you don't mind."

He looked up, and for a moment he saw her face in the light of the
taxi lamp; such a white, quivering face it was.

"Marie!..." said Micky in a choked voice, but