all love; I shall gloat over the fact that I love; I shall love,
love, _love_ with all that there is in me, all that there is in my body
and my soul. The poor fools."

And all that was in her body and her soul was prepared to give itself to
the man who loved her. She wanted him to have her for his own. She pitied
him even more than she pitied herself.

Anne had no illusions concerning herself. Mawkish sentimentality had no
place in her character. She was straightforward and above board with
herself, and she would not cheapen herself in her own eyes. Another woman
might have gone down on her knees, whimpering a cry for forgiveness, but
not Anne Tresslyn. She would ask him to forgive her but she would not lie
to herself by prostrating her body at his feet. There was firm, noble
stuff in Anne Tresslyn. It was born in her to know that the woman who goes
down on her knees before her man never quite rises to her full height
again. She will always be in the position of wondering whether she stayed
on her knees long enough to please him. The thought had never entered
Anne's head to look anywhere but straight into Braden's eyes. She was not
afraid to have him see that she was honest! He could see that she had no
lies to tell him. And she was as sorry for him as she was for herself....

She saw him often during the days of Lutie's convalescence, but never
alone. There was considerable comfort for her in the thought that he made
a distinct point of not being alone with her. One day she said to him:

"I have my car outside, Braden. Shall I run you over to St. Luke's?"

It was a test. She knew that he was going to the hospital, and intended to
take the elevated down to 110th Street. His smile puzzled her.

"No, thank you." Then, after a moment, he added: "If people saw me driving
about in a prosperous looking touring-car they'd be justified in thinking
that my fees are exorbitant, and I should lose more than I'd gain."

She flushed slightly. "By the same argument they might think you were
picking up germs in the elevated or the subway."

"I shun the subway," he said.

Anne looked straight into his eyes and said--to herself: "I love you." He
must have sensed the unspoken words, for his eyes hardened.

"Moreover, Anne, I shouldn't think it would be necessary for me to remind
you that--" he hesitated, for he suddenly realised that he was about to
hurt her, and it was not what he wanted to do--"that there are other and
better r