e to do it now. I can't marry
another woman when I'm in love with you.'

'Can't you? When you know that you can never marry me?'

'Even if I know that,' said Gerald, staring at her and, with his
deepening sense of complications, looking, for him, almost stern.

'Well, know it; once for all.'

'That you won't ever forgive me?' Gerald questioned.

'Put it like that if you like to,' she answered.

Gerald turned again to go, and it was now Franklin who checked him.

'Mr. Digby--wait,' he said; 'Helen--wait.' He had been looking at them
both while they interchanged their hostilities, and yet, though watching
them, he had been absent, as though he were watching something else even
more. 'What I mean, what I want to say, is this----' he rather
stammered. 'Don't please go to Althea directly. I'm to go to her this
evening. She asked me to come and see her at six.' He pulled out his
watch. 'It's five now. Will you wait? Will you wait till this evening,
please?'

Gerald again had deeply flushed. 'Of course, if you ask it. Only I do
feel that I ought to see her, you know,' he paused, perplexed. Then, as
he looked at Franklin Kane, something came to him. The cloud of his
oppression seemed to pass from his face and it was once more
illuminated, not with blitheness, but with recognition. He saw, he
thought he saw, the way Franklin opened for them all. And his words
expressed the dazzled relief of that vision. 'I see,' he said, gazing on
at Franklin, 'yes, I see. Yes, if you can manage that it will be
splendid of you, Kane.' Flooded with the hope of swift elucidation he
seized the other's hand while he went on. 'It's been such a dreadful
mess. Do forgive me. You must; you will, won't you? It may mean
happiness for you, even though Helen says it can't for me. I do wish you
all good fortune. And--I'll be at my club until I hear from you. And I
can't say how I thank you.' With this, incoherently and rapidly
pronounced, Gerald was gone and Franklin and Helen were left standing
before each other.

For a long time they did not speak, but Franklin's silence seemed caused
by no embarrassment. He still looked perplexed, but, through his
perplexity, he looked intent, as though tracing in greater and greater
clearness the path before him--the path that Gerald had seen that he was
opening and that might, Gerald had said, mean happiness to them all. It
was Helen watching him who felt a cruel embarrassment. She saw Franklin
sacrificed and