with a dread that he should find something in it.

"Pshaw! What's the use? It's been a game from the beginning, and a
question which should ruin. I won. She meant to throw me over, if the
time came for her, but it came for me first, and it's only a question now
which shall break first; we've both been near it once or twice already. I
don't mean she shall get the start of me."

Westover had a glimpse of the innate enmity of the sexes in this game; of
its presence in passion that was lived and of its prevalence in passion
that was played. But the fate of neither gambler concerned him; he was
impatient of his interest in what Jeff now went on to tell him, without
scruple concerning her, or palliation of himself. He scarcely realized
that he was listening, but afterward he remembered it all, with a little
pity for Bessie and none for Jeff, but with more shame for her, too. Love
seems more sacredly confided to women than to men; it is and must be a
higher and finer as well as a holier thing with them; their blame for its
betrayal must always be the heavier. He had sometimes suspected Bessie's
willingness to amuse herself with Jeff, as with any other man who would
let her play with him; and he would not have relied upon anything in him
to defeat her purpose, if it had been anything so serious as a purpose.

At the end of Durgin's story he merely asked: "And what are you going to
do about Cynthia?"

"I am going to tell her," said Jeff. "That's what I am going up there
for."

Westover rose, but Jeff remained sitting where he had put himself astride
of a chair, with his face over the back. The painter walked slowly up and
down before him in the capricious play of the street light. He turned a
little sick, and he stopped a moment at the window for a breath of air.

"Well?" asked Jeff.

"Oh! You want my advice?" Westover still felt physically incapable of the
indignation which he strongly imagined. "I don't know what to say to you,
Durgin. You transcend my powers. Are you able to see this whole thing
yourself?"

"I guess so," Jeff answered. "I don't idealize it, though. I look at
facts; they're bad enough. You don't suppose that Miss Lynde is going to
break her heart over--"

"I don't believe I care for Miss Lynde any more than I care for you. But
I believe I wish you were not going to break with her."

"Why?"

"Because you and she are fit for each other. If you want my advice, I
advise you to be true to her--if you c