the way to put it," David said gravely. "We
brought queer trouble on her."

"She made--you--suffer."

"She gave my vanity the worst blow it has ever had in its life," David
corrected her. "Look here, Margaret, I want you to know the truth
about that. I--I stumbled into that, you know. She was so sweet, and
before I knew it I had--I found myself in the attitude of making love
to her. Well, there was nothing to do but go through with it. I wanted
to, of course. I felt like Pygmalion--but it was all potential,
unrealized--and ass that I was, I assumed that she would have no other
idea in the matter. I was going to marry her because I--I had started
things going, you know. I had no choice even if I had wanted one. It
never occurred to me that she might have a choice, and so I went on
trying to make things easy for her, and getting them more tangled at
every turn."

"You never really--cared?" Margaret's face was in shadow.

"Never got the chance to find out. With characteristic idiocy I was
keeping out of the picture until the time was ripe. She really ran
away to get away from the situation I created and she was quite right
too. If I weren't haunted by these continual pictures of our offspring
in the bread line, I should be rather glad than otherwise that she's
shaken us all till we get our breath back. Poor Peter is the one who
is smashed, though. He hasn't smiled since she went away."

"You wouldn't smile if you were engaged to Beulah."

"Are they still engaged?"

"Beulah has her ring, but I notice she doesn't wear it often."

"Jimmie and Gertrude seem happy."

"They are, gloriously."

"That leaves only us two," David suggested. "Margaret, dear, do you
think the time will ever come when I shall get you back again?"

Margaret turned a little pale, but she met his look steadily.

"Did you ever lose me?"

"The answer to that is 'yes,' as you very well know. Time was when we
were very close--you and I, then somehow we lost the way to each
other. I'm beginning to realize that it hasn't been the same world
since and isn't likely to be unless you come back to me."

"Was it I who strayed?"

"It was I; but it was you who put the bars up and have kept them
there."

"Was I to let the bars down and wait at the gate?"

"If need be. It should be that way between us, Margaret, shouldn't
it?"

"I don't know," Margaret said, "I don't know." She flashed a sudden
odd look at him. "If--when I put the bars down, I sha