e her laugh again!' And so
I am here, Gerty; and if I am troubling you at a bad time--well, it is
only for a moment or two; and you will not mind that? You and I are so
different, Gerty! You are all-perfect. You do not want the sympathy of
any one. You are satisfied with your own thinkings; you are a world to
yourself. But I cannot live without being in sympathy with you. It is a
craving--it is like a fire--Well, I did not come here to talk about
myself."

"I am sorry you took so much trouble," she said, in a low voice--and
there was a nervous restraint in her manner. "You might have answered my
letter, instead."

"Your letter!" he exclaimed. "Why Gerty, I could not talk to the letter.
It was not yourself. It was no more part of yourself than a glove. You
will forget that letter, and all the letters that ever you wrote; let
them go away like the leaves of former autumns that are quite forgotten;
and instead of the letters, be yourself--as I see you now--proud-spirited
and noble--my beautiful Gerty--my wife!"

He make a step forward and caught her hand. She did not see that there
were sudden tears in the imploring eyes. She only knew that this
vehemence seemed to suffocate her.

"Keith," said she, and she gently disengaged her hand, "will you sit
down, and we can talk over this matter calmly, if you please; but I
think it would have been better if you left us both to explain ourselves
in writing. It is difficult to say certain things without giving
pain--and you know I don't wish to do that--"

"I know," said he, with an absent look on his face; and he took the
chair she had indicated, and sat down beside her; and now he was no
longer regarding her eyes.

"It is quite true that you and I are different," said she, with a
certain resolution in her tone, as if she was determined to get through
with a painful task--"very seriously different in everything--in our
natures, and habits, and opinions, and all the rest of it. How we ever
became acquainted I don't know; I am afraid it was not a fortunate
accident for either of us. Well--"

Here she stopped. She had not prepared any speech; and she suddenly
found herself without a word to say, when words, words, words were all
she eagerly wanted in order to cover her retreat. And as for him, he
gave her no help. He sat silent--his eyes downcast--a tired and haggard
look on his face.

"Well," she resumed, with a violent effort, "I was saying, perhaps we
made a mistake in o