er by a helping hand lest worse things happen;
and as he was evidently determined not to tell his story then, Mary
waited without impatience.

They were lunching early, and had finished before many people began to
arrive dustily in carriages and automobiles. Hannaford had ordered his
taxi at two o'clock, and there was no hurry. He told the Italian
musicians to play softly, some simple old airs that he loved. Then, when
Mary sat staring dreamily into the water, far down through clear green
depths, he put his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, and
leaned across to her.

"Of course you know," he said, "that I love you. Don't speak yet--and
don't look at me, please. Keep your eyes on the water. I told you I had
something to ask; but it's not for your love I'm asking. I know that no
woman, not even with your kind and gentle heart, could love a man like
me. But something has hurt you. I told you once before that I didn't
want to hear what it was. Only I'm afraid you're not happy, and
perhaps--if the hurt was in your heart--you may never be happy again in
exactly the old way, as a young girl is when she is full of hope. We
feel alike about a lot of things, you and I. We are good friends. At
least, you look on me as your friend. And as for you, no man will ever
be your friend, as you think of that word. I'm your friend to this
extent, that you've given me back my interest in the world. I used to
want to get out of it all, but I don't now, because you're in it.
Anyhow, I don't want to go if you'll let me be of use to you--if you'll
let me love you. Is it possible, dear, that you could think of marrying
me--just in a friendly sort of way, you know, to have a protector, a man
to look after you, and worship you, without any return except a little
sympathy and kindness?"

Not once had Mary looked up at him, after the first fluttering glance of
surprise when he began. Even when Hannaford stopped, and waited, she
still kept her eyes on the water; but he saw that her hand trembled on
the balustrade, and that a little pulse beat in her throat.

"I never thought!" she quavered, miserably.

"I know that, very well. I wouldn't believe most women who made such an
excuse, after being as kind to me as you have been--a man like me! I
should have thought you knew, and that you were playing, as the boys
play with the frogs. But I realized from the first that you weren't
going to 'think,' unless I put thoughts into your head. I woul