enly to her feet, and before he had realized her
intention she was on her knees by his side. She caught at his hand and
kept her face hidden from him.

"Lawrence," she cried, "I was mad the other day. It was all the pent-up
bitterness of years which seemed to escape me so suddenly. I said so much
that I did not mean to--I was mad, dear. Oh, Lawrence, I am so lonely!"

Then the fear in his heart became a live thing. He was dumb. He could not
have spoken had he tried.

"It was your coldness all these years," she murmured. "You were different
once. You know that. At first, when the horror of what happened was
young, I thought I understood. I thought, as it wore off, that you would
be different. The horror has gone now, Lawrence. We know that it was an
accident, it might as well have been another as you. But you have not
changed. I have given up hoping. I have tried everything else, and I am a
very miserable woman. Now I am going to pray to you, Lawrence. You do not
care for me more. Pretend that you do! You cannot give me your love. Give
me the best you can. Don't despise me too utterly, Lawrence! Pity me, if
you will. Heaven knows I need it. And--you will be a little kind!"

Her hands were clasped about his neck. He disengaged himself gently.

"Blanche!" he cried, hoarsely, "I love another woman!"

"Are you engaged to her?"

"No! Not now!"

"Then what does it matter? What does it matter, anyhow? It is not the
real thing I am asking you for, Lawrence--only the make-belief! Keep the
rest for her, if you must, but give me lies, false looks, hollow
caresses, anything! You see what depths I have fallen to."

He held her hands tightly. A great pity for her filled his heart--pity
for her, and for himself.

"Blanche," he said, "there is one way only. It is for you to decide. Will
you marry me? I will do my best to make you a good husband!"

"Marry you?" she gasped. "Lawrence, I dare not!"

"I cannot alter the past," he said, sadly. "It never seemed to me
possible that you could care for my--after what happened. But--"

"Oh, it is not that," she interrupted. "There is--the other woman, and,
Lawrence, I should be afraid. I am not good enough!"

"Whatever you are, Blanche," he said, gravely, "remember that it is I who
am responsible for your having been left alone to face the world. Your
follies belong to me. I am quite free to share their burden with you."

"But the other woman?" she faltered.

"I must love her al