not understand his voice--it was pain,
but more than pain; 'why were you so cruel? why were you so proud? If
you'd only let me see; if you'd only given me a hint. Don't you know it
only needed that?'

She paused over his question for so long that he put down his hand and
looked at her, and her eyes, meeting his unfalteringly, widened with a
strained, suffering look.

'It's kind of you to say so,' she said. 'And I know you believe it now;
you are so fond of me, and so sorry for this horrid tale I inflict on
you, that you have to believe it. And of course it may be true. Perhaps
it did only need that.'

They had both now looked away again, Gerald gazing unseeingly into the
mirror, Helen at the opposite wall. 'It may be true,' she repeated. 'I
had only, perhaps, to be instinctive--to withdraw--to hide--create the
little mysteries that appeal to men's senses and imaginations. I had
only to put aside my pride and to shut my eyes on my horrible, hard,
lucid self-consciousness, let instinct guide me, be a mere woman, and
you might have been in love with me. It's true. I used often to think
it, too. I used often to think that I might make you fall in love with
me if I could stop being your friend. But, don't you see, I knew myself
far too well. I _was_ too proud. I didn't want you if you only wanted me
because I'd lured you and appealed to your senses and imagination. I
didn't want you unless you wanted me for the big and not for the little
things of love. I couldn't pretend that I had something to hide--I know
perfectly how it is done--the air of evasion, of wistfulness--all the
innocent hypocrisies women make use of; but I couldn't. I didn't want
you like that. There was nothing for it but to look straight at you and
pretend, not that there was anything to hide, but that there was
nothing.'

Again, his eyes meeting hers, she looked, indeed, straight at him and
smiled a little; for there was, indeed, nothing now to hide; and she
went on quietly, 'You see now, how I've been feeling for these last
months, when everything has gone, at last, completely. I'd determined,
long ago, to give up hope and marry some one else. But I didn't know
till this autumn, when you decided to marry Althea, I didn't know till
then how much hope there was still left to be killed. When a thing like
that has been killed, you see, one hasn't much feeling left for the rest
of life. I don't care enough, one way or the other, not to marry as I'm
doing