ean part of his pain was because of Rita's suffering.
If she did not suffer, he could endure the penalty of his sin with
greater fortitude. This slight relief came to him, not because his love
was weak, but because his unselfishness was strong.

"If I could really believe that you do not care," he said, struggling
with a torturing lump in his throat, "if I could surely know that you do
not suffer the pain I feel, I might endure it--God in heaven! I suppose
I might endure it. But when I think that I have brought suffering to
you, I am almost wild."

The girl's hands were folded demurely upon her lap, and she was gazing
down at them. She lifted her eyes for an instant, and there was an
unwonted hardness in them as she answered: "You need not waste any
sympathy on me. I don't want it."

"Is it really true, Rita," he asked, "that you no longer care for me?
Was your love a mere garment you could throw off at will?" He paused,
but Rita making no reply, he continued: "It wounds my vanity to learn
that I so greatly overestimated your love for me, and I can hardly
believe that you speak the truth, but--but I hope--I almost hope you do.
Every sense of honor I possess tells me I must accept the wages of my
sin and marry Sukey Yates, even though--"

Suddenly a change came over the scene. The girl who had been so passive
and cold at once became active and very warm. She sprang to her feet,
panting with excitement. Resolutions and righteous indignation were
scattered to the four winds by the tremendous shock of his words. Sukey
at last had stolen him. That thought seemed to be burning itself into
the very heart of her consciousness.

"You--you marry Sukey Yates!" she cried, breathing heavily and leaning
toward Dic, one hand resting on the arm of his chair, "you _marry_ her?"
The question was almost a wail.

"But if you no longer care there can be no reason why I should not,"
said Dic, hardly knowing in the whirl of his surprise what he was
saying.

Rita thought of the letter to Tom, and all the sympathetic instincts of
her nature sprang up to protect Dic, and to save him from Sukey's wicked
designs.

"Oh," she cried, falling back into her chair, "you surely did not
believe me!"

"And you do care?" asked Dic, almost stunned by her sudden change of
front. Rita's conduct had always been so sedate and sensible that he did
not suppose she was possessed of ordinary feminine weaknesses.

"Oh, Dic," she replied, "I never thought