"He must be told. It's terrible to have an enemy waiting to stab you in
the dark--and you blind to boot. Why haven't you told him?"

Why? Why? Why?

It was so hard to keep to the lower key of her conception of things. I
made a little gesture signifying I know not what: that it was not my
business, that I was not on sufficient terms of intimacy with Boyce,
that it didn't seem important enough .... My helpless shrug suggested,
I suppose, all of these excuses. Why hadn't I warned him? Cowardice, I
suppose.

"Either you or I must do it," she went on. "You're his friend. He
thinks more of you than of any other man in the world. And he's right,
dear--" she flashed me a proud glance, sweet and stabbing--"Don't I
know it?"

Then suddenly a new idea seemed to pass through her brain. She bent
forward and touched the light shawl covering my knees.

"For the last month or two you've known what he has done. It hasn't
made any difference in your friendship. You must think with me that the
past is past, that he has purged his sins, or whatever you like to call
them; that he is a man greatly to be forgiven."

"Yes, dear," said I, with a show of bravery, though I dreaded lest my
voice should break, "I think he is a man to be forgiven."

Her logic was remorseless.

With her frank grace she threw herself, in her old attitude, by the
side of my chair.

"I'm so glad we have had this talk, Majy darling. It has made
everything between us so clear and beautiful. It is always such a grief
to me to think you may not understand. I shall always be the little
girl that looked upon you as a wonderful hero and divine dispenser of
chocolates. Only now the chocolates stand for love and forbearance and
sympathy, and all kinds of spiritual goodies."

I passed my hand over her hair. "Silly child!"

"I got it into my head," she continued, "that you were blaming me
for--for my reconciliation with Leonard. But, my dear, my dear, what
woman's heart wouldn't be turned to water at the sight of him? It makes
me so happy that you understand. I can't tell you how happy."

"Are you going to marry him?" I think my voice was steady and kind
enough.

"Possibly. Some day. If he asks me."

I still stroked her hair. "I wouldn't let it be too soon," said I.

Her eyes were downcast. "On account of Willie?" she murmured.

"No, dear. I don't dare touch on that side of things."

Again a whisper. "Why, then?"

How could I tell her why without betrayal o