, dear, then it is serious." The laughter was gone; there came a
look of fear, of anxiety into his eyes.

It could not be that she was going to discard him, turn him down, end it
all now? But she was.

"Tom, it is only right and honest of me to tell you that--that"--her
voice shook--"that I have made a mistake."

"That you do not love me?" he said, and his voice was strangely quiet.

"Oh, Tom, I believed I did. It all seemed so different when we used to
meet, knowing that everyone was against us. It seemed so romantic,
so--so nice, and now ..." Her voice trailed off miserably.

"And now, now, sweet," and his voice was filled with tenderness and
yearning, "now I fall far short of what you hoped for."

"Oh, it isn't that. It is I--I--who am to blame, not you. I was a
senseless, romantic little fool, a child, and now I am a woman."

"You don't love me, Marjorie?"

Silence for a moment, then she answered in a low voice: "No!"

"Nor ever will, your love can't come back again?"

"I don't think it--it was ever there. I was wrong; I did not understand.
I was foolish and weak. I thought it fine to--to steal away and meet
you. I think I put a halo of romance about your head, and now--"

"A halo of romance about my head," he repeated. He looked down at his
hands, grimed with the work he had been at; he smiled, but there was no
mirth in his smile.

This was the end then! And he loved her, Heaven knew how he loved her!
He looked at the unyielding little figure against the light, and in his
eyes was a great longing and a subdued passion.

"So it--it is the end, Marjorie?"

"I want it to be."

"Yes, I understand. I knew that I was not good enough, never good enough
for you--far, far beneath you, dear. Only I would have tried to make you
happy--that is what I meant, you understand that? I would have given my
life to making you happy, little girl. Perhaps I was a fool to think I
could. I know now that I could not."

"Tom, I am sorry," she said. "I am sorry."

He came to her, he put his hand on her arm.

"Don't blame yourself, dear," he said, "don't blame yourself. You can't
help your heart; you--you only thought you cared for me for a time, but
it was just a fancy, and it--it passed, didn't it? And now it is gone,
and can never come back again. Of course it must end. Your
wishes--always--mean everything to me." He bent, he touched the white
hand with his lips, and then turned away. Once at the door he looked
back;