f my soul.

"'Oh, I forgot--' she exclaimed suddenly. I lifted my head and our eyes
met. Hers were smiling.

"She reached out her hand, opened the little bag she had tossed down
with her hat, and drew a small object from it. 'I left my trunk at the
station. Here's the check. Can you send for it?' she asked.

"Her trunk--she wanted me to send for her trunk! Oh, yes--I see your
smile, your 'lucky man!' Only, you see, I didn't love her in that way.
I knew she couldn't come to my house without running a big risk of
discovery, and my tenderness for her, my impulse to shield her, was
stronger, even then, than vanity or desire. Judged from the point of
view of those emotions I fell terribly short of my part. I hadn't any
of the proper feelings. Such an act of romantic folly was so unlike her
that it almost irritated me, and I found myself desperately wondering
how I could get her to reconsider her plan without--well, without
seeming to want her to.

"It's not the way a novel hero feels; it's probably not the way a man in
real life ought to have felt. But it's the way I felt--and she saw it.

"She put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me with deep, deep
eyes. 'Then you didn't expect me to stay?' she asked.

"I caught her hands and pressed them to me, stammering out that I hadn't
dared to dream....

"'You thought I'd come--just for an hour?'

"'How could I dare think more? I adore you, you know, for what
you've done! But it would be known if you--if you stayed on. My
servants--everybody about here knows you. I've no right to expose you to
the risk.' She made no answer, and I went on tenderly: 'Give me, if you
will, the next few hours: there's a train that will get you to town by
midnight. And then we'll arrange something--in town--where it's safer
for you--more easily managed.... It's beautiful, it's heavenly of you
to have come; but I love you too much--I must take care of you and think
for you--'

"I don't suppose it ever took me so long to say so few words, and
though they were profoundly sincere they sounded unutterably shallow,
irrelevant and grotesque. She made no effort to help me out, but sat
silent, listening, with her meditative smile. 'It's my duty, dearest, as
a man,' I rambled on. The more I love you the more I'm bound--'

"'Yes; but you don't understand,' she interrupted.

"She rose as she spoke, and I got up also, and we stood and looked at
each other.

"'I haven't come for a night; if you wan