and spoke.

"I've been deceiving you. I've trifled with you. When you proposed to
me--I didn't know--didn't realise--you were in earnest. No one had ever
proposed to me before. I didn't understand. And when I accepted you--I
wasn't in earnest either. I--I was just spiteful. Afterwards--when I
found out--it was too late. I couldn't tell you then."

The confession went haltingly out into silence. She dared not raise her
head. Moreover, she was weeping, and she did not want him to know it.

There was a motionless pause. Then at length the hand on her shoulder
began to rub up and down, comfortingly, caressingly.

"Don't cry!" said Tots. "Hadn't you better have some breakfast? That
bacon must be gettin' pretty beastly."

He was not angry, then. That was her first thought. And then again came
that insane desire to laugh. After all, why was she crying? Tots
apparently saw no cause for discomfiture.

With an effort she controlled herself.

"No; I'm not hungry," she said. "Won't you--please--settle this matter
now?"

"Only stop cryin'," said Tots. "You have? I say, what a fib! Well, I
suppose I must take your word for it. Now, little one, what is it you
want me to do?"

She raised her head in sheer astonishment.

No, there was no trace of anger in his face, neither did it betray any
disappointment. Complacent, kindly, quizzical, his eyes met hers, and
her heart gave a sudden, inexplicable bound.

"I--thought you would understand," she faltered. "We--we can't go on
being engaged, can we?"

"No," said Tots with instant decision. "Shouldn't dream of borin' you to
that extent. I've had enough of it myself as well." He uttered his
pleasant, careless laugh. "I really don't wonder that my courtin' made
you feel spiteful," he said. "I'm glad you're in favour of cuttin' it
too."

Ruth stared at him blankly. Was he laughing at her? Was this to be her
punishment?

He had straightened himself and was smiling down at her, his head within
a foot of the bulging ceiling.

"Tell you what!" he suddenly said. "You eat some breakfast like a good
girl, and then--I'll show you somethin'. Perhaps you'll let me join
you?"

He did not wait for her consent, but sat down at the table. Ruth rose.
He was putting her off, she felt, and she could not bear it. It had cost
her more than he would ever realise to tell him the truth.

"I'm very sorry," she said unsteadily, "but--I don't think we quite
understand each other yet. You know"--he