red embarrassment which
made the thought of seeing her impossible and so he did not go to pay
his respects to her. Indeed, he was content just to stay at the Manor
with me. It seemed that the bond between us, the old brotherly bond
that had existed before Jerry had gone forth into the world, had been
renewed. I would have given my life for him and I think he understood.
He was still much worried and talked of doing penance. Poor lad! As
though he were not doing penance every moment of his days! I know that
he wanted to talk, to tell me what had happened, to ask my advice, to
have my judgment of him and of her. But something restrained him,
perhaps the memory of the girl he had thought Marcia to be, that
sublimated being, in whose veins flowed only the ichor of the gods,
the goddess with the feet of clay. I told him that she had been at Bar
Harbor with Channing Lloyd and that Miss Gore had told me that the two
were much together in town.

"Oh, yes," he said slowly, "I know. They're even reported engaged.
Perhaps they are."

There was a long silence. We were sitting in the library late one
night, a month at least after he had returned, reading and talking by
turns.

"She wasn't worthy of you. Jerry," I remarked.

"No, that's not true," he said, a hand shading his eyes from the
lamplight. "It would be a poor creature that wouldn't be worthy of
such a beast as I. But she tried me, Roger, terribly."

"She tempted you purposely. It was a game. I saw it. But you, poor
blind Jerry--"

"Yes, blind and worse than blind, deaf to the appeals of my
friends--you and--and Una, who saw where I did not. Marcia had
promised to marry me, Roger, to be my wife. Do you understand what
such a promise meant to me then? All ideals and clean thoughts. I
worshiped her, did not even dare to touch her--until--Oh, I kissed
her, Roger. She taught me--many things, little things, innocent they
seemed in themselves at the time, but dangerous to my body and to my
soul. I knew nothing. I was like a new-born babe. My God! Roger--if
only you had told me! If you had told me--"

"I couldn't then, Jerry," I said softly. "It would have been too late.
You wouldn't have believed--"

"No," he muttered, "you're right. I wouldn't have believed anything
against her at the time or found a real meaning in the truth. She
could have done no wrong. Then I saw her kissing that fellow--you
remember? I think the change came in me then, my vision. I seemed to
see