aid. "I remember my
cabinet, and some of the names. But I never saw any fellows of this sort
in the North."

"Your memory is good?"

"Yes," he said, "for what I care about"--he looked up at her--"for those
I care about my memory is good, I never forget kindness--nor confidence
given--nor a fault forgiven."

She bent forward, elbows on knees, chin propped on both linked hands.

"Do you understand now," she said, "why I could not afford the
informality of our first meeting? What you have heard about me explains
why I can scarcely afford to discard convention, does it not, Mr.
Hamil?"

She went on, her white fingers now framing her face and softly indenting
the flushed skin:

"I don't know who has talked to you, or what you have heard; but I knew
by your expression--there at the swimming-pool--that you had heard
enough to embarrass you and--and hurt me very, very keenly."

"Calypso!" he broke out impulsively; but she shook her head. "Let _me_
tell you if it must be told, Mr. Hamil.... Father and mother are
dreadfully sensitive; I have only known about it for two years; two
years ago they told me--had to tell me.... Well--it still seems hazy and
incredible.... I was educated in a French convent--if you know what that
means. All my life I have been guarded--sheltered from knowledge of
evil; I am still unprepared to comprehend--... And I am still very
ignorant; I know that.... So you see how it was with me; a girl awakened
to such self-knowledge cannot grasp it entirely--cannot wholly convince
herself except at moments--at night. Sometimes--when a crisis
threatens--and one has lain awake long in the dark--"

She gathered her knees in her arms and stared at the patch of sunlight
that lay across the hem of her gown, leaving her feet shod in gold.

"I don't know how much difference it really makes to the world. I
suppose I shall learn--if people are to discuss me. How much difference
does it make, Mr. Hamil?"

"It makes none to me--"

"The world extends beyond your pleasant comradeship," she said. "How
does the world regard a woman of no origin--whose very name is a
charity--"

"Shiela!"

"W-what?" she said, trying to smile; and then slowly laid her head in
her hands, covering her face.

She had given way, very silently, for as he bent close to her he felt
the tearful aroma of her uneven breath--the feverish flush on cheek and
hand, the almost imperceptible tremor of her slender body--rather close
to him now.