, and they thought a letter would do
as well as a telegram." The colour had risen to her face. "That's why I
wrote instead of telegraphing; I haven't a penny to spare myself!"

Nothing she could have said could have filled her listener with a deeper
contrition. He felt the red in his own face as he recalled the motive
with which he had credited her in his midnight musings. But that motive,
after all, had simply been trumped up to justify his own disloyalty: he
had never really believed in it. The reflection deepened his confusion,
and he would have liked to take her hand in his and confess the
injustice he had done her.

She may have interpreted his change of colour as an involuntary protest
at being initiated into such shabby details, for she went on with a
laugh: "I suppose you can hardly understand what it means to have to
stop and think whether one can afford a telegram? But I've always had to
consider such things. And I mustn't stay here any longer now--I must try
to get a night train for Joigny. Even if the Farlows can't take me in,
I can go to the hotel: it will cost less than staying here." She paused
again and then exclaimed: "I ought to have thought of that sooner; I
ought to have telegraphed yesterday! But I was sure I should hear from
them today; and I wanted--oh, I DID so awfully want to stay!" She threw
a troubled look at Darrow. "Do you happen to remember," she asked, "what
time it was when you posted my letter?"

VII

Darrow was still standing on her threshold. As she put the question he
entered the room and closed the door behind him.

His heart was beating a little faster than usual and he had no clear
idea of what he was about to do or say, beyond the definite conviction
that, whatever passing impulse of expiation moved him, he would not be
fool enough to tell her that he had not sent her letter. He knew that
most wrongdoing works, on the whole, less mischief than its useless
confession; and this was clearly a case where a passing folly might be
turned, by avowal, into a serious offense.

"I'm so sorry--so sorry; but you must let me help you...You will let me
help you?" he said.

He took her hands and pressed them together between his, counting on a
friendly touch to help out the insufficiency of words. He felt her yield
slightly to his clasp, and hurried on without giving her time to answer.

"Isn't it a pity to spoil our good time together by regretting anything
you might have done