better, how are you
going to--well, chuck it with the first, you know--and still do the
square thing? There, that's what's hit me, Dicky; and I'm up against it
for fair!" Her hand gently patted my shoulder. "I'm telling you, old
chap, because I know you'll understand--because I like you better than
any man I ever saw--that's right!"

I was just afraid to move! Afraid she'd stop; afraid she'd go on. And
all the while I was feeling happier than I ever had in all my
life--happier than I ever knew people could be, you know. I never
thought her bold--dash it, no--knew it was just her adorable, delicious,
Arcadian simplicity, by Jove! That explained it, just as it explained to
me all her other unconventionality.

"So now it's up to you," she said, "and I want to know what's the
answer."

The answer!

And how could I give her any answer? No, by Jove, I knew jolly well I
couldn't take advantage of such circumstances--of her artless
confession; knew devilish well it wouldn't do, you know. Might reproach
me in years to come; and then--and then, there was Billings!

So I just contented myself with looking up smilingly, but it was
hard--awfully, awfully hard, dash it--and I just felt like a jolly
cad--or fool. Couldn't tell which.

CHAPTER VII

CONFIDENCES

This beautiful creature had proposed to me!

By Jove, that's what it amounted to practically; and now, as she said,
it was up to me. Yet I couldn't say a word!

"Well, what must I do about the other one?" she insisted.

The question reminded me of the entanglement to which her frank
simplicity had confessed. And she expected me, of all others, to tell
her what to do! I looked up into the radiant, crimsoned face as she bent
forward slightly, her lips parted, her eyes eager--expectant. She was
hanging upon my reply.

I coughed slightly. "That question is hardly fair, you know," I said
meaningly. "You see, it hits me rather personally."

"Oh!" she said.

I nodded and tried to find her hand as I looked down.

"So _that's_ where the shoe pinches!" And she whistled thoughtfully.

And just then my upward reaching hand found hers. And yet no, it
couldn't be her hand, either; it felt like the crash cover of the
cushion--rough and fibrous. And yet, by Jove, it _was_ a hand, for it
gave mine a grip that almost broke my fingers and then dropped them. By
the time I looked up, I saw only her little palm resting upward on her
knee.

It was funny; but I had othe