the stars, and the old
goddesses."

"And with words which meant--nothing----"

"_Becky_," he protested.

"Yes," she said, "you know it is true--they meant nothing. Perhaps you
have changed since then. I don't know. But I know this, that I have
changed."

He felt back of her words the force which had always baffled him.

"You mean that you don't love me?"

"Yes."

"I--I don't believe it----"

"You must----"

"But----" he rose and went towards her.

"Please--we won't argue it. And--Jane is going to give us some tea." She
left him for a moment and came back to sit behind the little table. Jane
brought tea and fresh little cakes.

"For Heaven's sake, Becky," George complained, when the old woman had
returned to her kitchen, "can you eat at a moment like this?"

"Yes," she said, "I can eat and the cakes are very nice."

She did not let him see that her hand trembled as she poured the tea.

George had had five days in the company of the dancer in yellow. He had
found her amusing. She played the game at which he had proved himself so
expert rather better than the average woman. She served for the moment,
but no sane man would ever think of spending his life with her. But here
was the real thing--this slip of a child in a blue velvet smock, with
bows on her slippers, and a wave of bronze hair across her forehead. He
felt that Becky's charms would last for a lifetime. When she was old,
and sat like that on the other side of the hearth, with silver hair and
bent figure, she would still retain her loveliness of spirit, the
steadfast gaze, the vivid warmth of word and gesture.

For the first time in his life George knew the kind of love that
projects itself forward into the future, that sees a woman as friend and
as companion. And this woman whom he loved had just said that she did
not love him.

"I won't give you up," he said doggedly.

"How can you keep me?" she asked quietly, and suddenly the structure of
hope which he had built for himself tumbled.

"Then this is the--end?"

"I am afraid it is," and she offered him a cup.

His face grew suddenly gray. "I don't want any tea. I want you," his
hands went over his face. "I want you, Becky."

"Don't," she said, shakily, "I am sorry."

She was sorry to see him no longer shining, no longer splendid, but she
was glad that the spell was broken--the charm of sparkling eyes and
quick voice gone--forever.

She said again, as she gave him her hand at parting,