are already
gazing into--"

"Rita! Rita! What are you saying?"

"I scarcely know, child. I am trying to save you from lifelong
unhappiness--trying to tell you that--that men are not worth it--"

"How do you know?"

There was a silence, then Rita, very pale and quiet, leaned forward,
resting her elbows on her knees and framing her face with her hands.

"I had my lesson," she said.

"You! Oh, my darling--forgive me! I did not know--"

Rita suffered herself to be drawn into the younger girl's impulsive
embrace; they both cried a little, arms around each other, faltering out
question and answer in unsteady whispers:

"Were you married, dearest?"

"No."

"Oh--I am _so_ sorry, dear--"

"So am I.... Do you blame me for thinking about men as I do think?"

"Didn't you love--him?"

"I thought I did.... I was too young to know.... It doesn't matter
now--"

"No, no, of course not. You made a ghastly mistake, but it's no more
shame to you than it is to him. Besides, you thought you loved him."

"He could have made me. I was young enough.... But he let me see how
absolutely wicked he was.... And then it was too late to ever love him."

"O Rita, Rita!--then you haven't ever even had the happiness of loving?
Have you?"

Rita did not answer.

"Have you, darling?"

Then Rita broke down and laid her head on Valerie's knees, crying as
though her heart would break.

"That's the terrible part of it," she sobbed--"I really do love a man,
now.... Not that _first_ one ... and there's nothing to do about
it--nothing, Valerie, nothing--because even if he asked me to marry him
I can't, now--"

"Because you--"

"Yes."

"And if you had not--"

"God knows what I would do," sobbed Rita, "I love him so, Valerie--I
love him so!"

The younger girl looked down at the blond head lying on her
knees--looked at the pretty tear-stained face gleaming through the
fingers--looked and wondered over the philosophy broken down beside the
bowed head and breaking heart.

Terrible her plight; with or without benefit of clergy she dared not
give herself. Love was no happiness to her, no confidence, no
sacrifice--only a dreadful mockery--a thing that fettered, paralysed,
terrified.

"Does he love you?" whispered Valerie.

"No--I think not."

"If he did he would forgive."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course. Love pardons everything," said the girl in surprise.

"Yes. But never forgets."

* * * *