r hands and looked at him again, his face
was set like a mask, the lips drawn back a little from the teeth in a
way that suggested a dumb animal in pain. But she was so hurt herself
that she failed to recognize his infinitely greater hurt.

"I think--I think I hate you," she whispered.

His taut muscles seemed to relax.

"I hope you do," he said steadily. "It will be better so."

Something in the quiet acceptance of his tone moved her to a softer,
more wistful emotion.

"If it had been anything--anything but that, Garth, I think I could have
borne it."

There was a depth of appeal in the low-spoken words. But he ignored it,
opposing a reckless indifference to her softened mood.

"Then it's just as well it wasn't 'anything but that.'
Otherwise"--sardonically--"you might have felt constrained to abide by
your rash promise to marry me."

His eyes flashed over her face, mocking, deriding. He had struck where
she was most vulnerable, accusing where her innate honesty of soul
admitted she had no defence, and she winced away from the speech almost
as though it had been a blow upon her body.

It was true she had given her promise blindly, in ignorance of the
facts, but that could not absolve her. It was not Garth who had forced
the promise from her. It was she who had impetuously offered it, never
conceiving such a possibility as that he might be guilty of the one sin
for which, in her eyes, there could be no palliation.

"I know," she said unevenly. "I know. You have the right to remind me of
my promise. I--I blame myself. It's horrible--to break one's word."

She was silent a moment, standing with bent head, her instinct to be
fair, to play the game, combating the revulsion of feeling with which
the knowledge of Garth's act of cowardice had filled her. When she
looked up again there was a curious intensity in her expression, wanly
decisive.

"Marriage for us--now--could never mean anything but misery." The effort
in her voice was palpable. It was as though she were forcing herself
to utter words from which her inmost being recoiled. "But I gave you my
promise, and if--if you choose to hold me to it--"

"I don't choose!" He broke in harshly. "You may spare yourself any
anxiety on that score. You are free--as free as though we had never met.
I'm quite ready to bow to your decision that I'm not fit to marry you."

A little caught breath of unutterable relief fluttered between her lips.
If he heard it, he made no