gazing into his eyes, with eyes
that held an indefinable fear.

He had not relinquished her hand since he had seated himself. He pressed
it strongly, fighting back the desire to take her in his arms, that came
to him with the spectacle of her misery. There flashed through his mind
the details of his final parting with Doris and her ominous declaration
of the ruin impending over her father. He had only half believed it then
but now it flashed across his memory with instant conviction.

"Your father is in trouble--financial trouble!" he said suddenly.

"How do you know?" she said amazed.

"Doris told me."

"Doris? When?" she said. She stiffened at the name, though he did not
notice the action.

"The last time I saw her--why, Drina, didn't you know? Why she came
down, why she saw me and asked to be released--didn't you know her
reason?"

"I know nothing. Do you mean to say that she--" she paused as though
overwhelmed at the thought, "that then she knew Dad was facing ruin?"

"Knew? Why, your father told her!-- Doris and your mother! You didn't
know?"

"No."

"You weren't told afterward?"

"No, no--not a word."

Rapidly he recounted the details of the scene, failing in his excitement
to notice how divided was her interest, between the knowledge of what
was threatening her father, and what bore upon the situation between
Doris and himself.

"Then it was Doris who broke it!" she said suddenly and a shudder went
through her body.

He checked himself, saw clear and answered impetuously.

"Yes, she did--that's true. But let me tell the truth also. I never
would have married her--never--never! I never in all my life felt such
relief--yes, such absolute happiness as that night when I walked away
free. I did not love her. I had not for a long, long time. I pitied her.
I believed that through her love for me a great change was coming in
her--for the best. And so it had. I pitied her. I was afraid of doing
harm. That was all. She knew it, Drina. You can't believe I cared--you
must have known!"

"And yet--yet," she began, hesitatingly, and stopped.

"Don't hold anything back," he said impulsively. "We mustn't let
anything stand between us. Say anything you want. Better that."

"What I couldn't understand," she said at last, with an effort, in which
her hurt pride was evident--"that afternoon--when you gave back the
money to Dad--after what you said to me-- Oh! how can I say it."

"You thought that I was going