ings that might be mended.'

'I'm afraid I can't take things as you do,' said Helen. 'Some things are
ruined from the very beginning.'

'Well, I don't know about that,' said Franklin; 'at all events some
things aren't. And you're wrong about this thing, I'm sure of it. You're
hard and you're proud, and you set yourself against life and won't let
it work on you. The only way to get anything worth while out of life is
to be humble with it and be willing to let it lead you, I do assure you,
Helen.'

Suddenly, her face hidden in her hands, she began to cry.

'He is spoiled for me. Everything is spoiled for me,' she sobbed. 'I'd
rather be proud and miserable than humiliated. Who wants a joy that is
spoiled? Some things can't be joys if they come too late.'

She wept, and in the silence between them knew only her own sorrow and
the bitterness of the desecration that had been wrought in her own love.
Then, dimly, through her tears, she heard Franklin's voice, and heard
that it trembled.

'I think they can, Helen,' he said. 'I think it's wonderful the way joy
can grow if we don't set ourselves against life. I'm going to try to
make it grow'--how his poor voice trembled, she was drawn from her own
grief in hearing it--'and I wish I could leave you believing that you
were going to try too.'

She put down her hands and lifted her strange, tear-stained face.

'You are going to Althea.'

'Yes,' said Franklin, and he smiled gently at her.

'You are going to ask her to marry you before she can know that Gerald
is giving her up.'

He paused for a moment. 'I'm going to see if she needs me.'

Helen gazed at him. She couldn't see joy growing, but she saw a
determination that, in its sudden strength, was almost a joy.

'And--if she doesn't need you, Franklin?'

'Ah, well,' said Franklin, continuing to smile rather fixedly, 'I've
stood that, you see, for a good many years.'

Helen rose and came beside him. 'Franklin,' she said, and she took his
hand, 'if she doesn't have you--you'll come back.'

'Come back?' he questioned, and she saw that all his hardly held
fortitude was shaken by his wonder.

'To me,' said Helen. 'You'll marry me, if Althea won't have you. Even if
she does--I'm not going to marry Gerald. So don't go to her with any
mistaken ideas about me.'

He was very pale, holding her hand fast, as it held his. 'You mean--you
hate him so much--for never having seen--that you'll go through with
it--to punish him.