d earned the right to ask it, and not to one who, within a
few short days, had formed new impressions about me. Love is not the
affection of a friend, or even of a sister. There is no necessity for
me to marry."

"Then you refuse me?" he said, a little stiffly.

"Certainly I refuse you, Graydon. Has my manner led you to think that
I was eager for a chance to accept you?"

"Oh, no, indeed! You have checked my slightest tendencies toward
sentiment."

"Thank you for the assurance. I do not care in the least for
sentiment."

His airy fabric of hope, of almost certainty, had been shattered so
suddenly that he was overwhelmed. There seemed but one conclusion.

"Madge," he said, in a low, hoarse voice, "answer me, yes or no. You
loved some one at Santa Barbara who did not return your love? That is
your trouble of which Mrs. Wendall spoke--I could not help hearing her
words--that is the mystery about you which has been haunting me with
increasing perplexity; that was the sorrow I heard in your voice the
evening you sang in the chapel, and which has vaguely, yet strongly,
moved me since? Tell me, is it not so? Tell me, as a friend, that I
may be a truer friend."

She had turned away in a manner that confirmed his thought.

"You are suggesting a humiliating confession, Graydon."

"Yes, humiliating to the man who saw you, knew you, yet did not love
you. Tell me, Madge. It will make my own course clearer."

"Yes, then," she replied.

He sighed deeply, and was silent for a few moments.

"Madge," he at last resumed, "look at me. I wish to tell you
something."

She turned slowly toward him, and he saw that her lip was trembling,
and that tears were gathering in her eyes.

"You may think me cruel in wringing such a confession from you, but
perhaps you will forgive me when you hear all I have to say. You may
look upon me now as a creature of impulses and impressions. The memory
of my recent infatuation is fresh in your mind, but you yourself said
I could be straightforward when once I got my bearings. I have them
now, and I take my course. As a friend you have revealed to me much of
your woman's nature, and, having known the best, I shall not look for
anything less than yours. I shall be devoted to you through life. I
will be to you all that I can be--all that you will permit. It is said
that time heals all wounds. Perhaps some day--well, if it ever can be,
I should be content to take what you could give. You said I wa