o I am--but
not in the sense you think! I'm not ashamed of having loved him; no; and
I'm not ashamed of telling you so. It's that that justifies me--and him
too...Oh, let me tell you how it happened! He was sorry for me: he saw I
cared. I KNEW that was all he ever felt. I could see he was thinking of
some one else. I knew it was only for a week...He never said a word to
mislead me...I wanted to be happy just once--and I didn't dream of the
harm I might be doing him!"

Anna could not speak. She hardly knew, as yet, what the girl's words
conveyed to her, save the sense of their tragic fervour; but she was
conscious of being in the presence of an intenser passion than she had
ever felt.

"I am sorry for you." She paused. "But why do you say this to me?" After
another interval she exclaimed: "You'd no right to let Owen love you."

"No; that was wrong. At least what's happened since has made it so. If
things had been different I think I could have made Owen happy. You were
all so good to me--I wanted so to stay with you! I suppose you'll say
that makes it worse: my daring to dream I had the right...But all that
doesn't matter now. I won't see Owen unless you're willing. I should
have liked to tell him what I've tried to tell you; but you must know
better; you feel things in a finer way. Only you'll have to help him if
I can't. He cares a great deal...it's going to hurt him..."

Anna trembled. "Oh, I know! What can I do?"

"You can go straight back to Givre--now, at once! So that Owen shall
never know you've followed him." Sophy's clasped hands reached out
urgently. "And you can send for Mr. Darrow--bring him back. Owen must
be convinced that he's mistaken, and nothing else will convince him.
Afterward I'll find a pretext--oh, I promise you! But first he must see
for himself that nothing's changed for you."

Anna stood motionless, subdued and dominated. The girl's ardour swept
her like a wind.

"Oh, can't I move you? Some day you'll know!" Sophy pleaded, her eyes
full of tears.

Anna saw them, and felt a fullness in her throat. Again the band about
her heart seemed loosened. She wanted to find a word, but could not:
all within her was too dark and violent. She gave the girl a speechless
look.

"I do believe you," she said suddenly; then she turned and walked out of
the room.

XXXII

She drove from Miss Painter's to her own apartment. The maid-servant who
had it in charge had been apprised of her coming,