ce should be. Billy could not but trust her.

"I've been an ass," said he, rather tragically. "Oh, not an unusual
ass, Kathleen--just the sort men are always making of themselves. You
see, before I went to France, there was a girl I--cared for. And I let
a quarrel come between us--a foolish, trifling, idle little quarrel,
Kathleen, that we might have made up in a half-hour. But I was too
proud, you see. No, I wasn't proud, either," Mr. Woods amended,
bitterly; "I was simply pig-headed and mulish. So I went away. And
yesterday I saw her again and realised that I--still cared. That's
all, Kathleen. It isn't an unusual story." And Mr. Woods laughed,
mirthlessly, and took a turn on the terrace.

Mrs. Saumarez was regarding him intently. Her cheeks were of a deeper,
more attractive pink, and her breath came and went quickly.

"I--I don't understand," she said, in a rather queer voice.

"Oh, it's simple enough," Billy assured her. "You see, she--well, I
think she would have married me once. Yes, she cared for me once. And
I quarreled with her--I, conceited young ass that I was, actually
presumed to dictate to the dearest, sweetest, most lovable woman on
earth, and tell her what she must do and what she mustn't. I!--good
Lord, I, who wasn't worthy to sweep a crossing clean for her!--who
wasn't worthy to breathe the same air with her!--who wasn't worthy to
exist in the same world she honoured by living in! Oh, I _was_ an ass!
But I've paid for it!--oh, yes, Kathleen, I've paid dearly for it,
and I'll pay more dearly yet before I've done. I tried to avoid her
yesterday--you must have seen that. And I couldn't--I give you my
word, I could no more have kept away from her than I could have spread
a pair of wings and flown away. She doesn't care a bit for me now; but
I can no more give up loving her than I can give up eating my dinner.
That isn't a pretty simile, Kathleen, but it expresses the way I feel
toward her. It isn't merely that I want her; it's more than that--oh,
far more than that. I simply can't do without her. Don't you
understand, Kathleen?" he asked, desperately.

"Yes--I think I understand," she said, when he had ended. "I--oh,
Billy, I am almost sorry. It's dear of you--dear of you, Billy, to
care for me still, but--but I'm almost sorry you care so much. I'm not
worth it, boy dear. And I--I really don't know what to say. You must
let me think."

Mr. Woods gave an inarticulate sound. The face she turned to him