id with a note of faint
surprise.

"Is that very wonderful?"

"Yes."

Benis looked at her quickly and looked away. She was certainly paler.
She held her head as if its crown of hair were heavy.

"It does not seem wonderful to other people who also--like you."

Her eyes turned to him almost timidly. It hurt him to notice that the
old frank openness of glance was gone. Good heavens! was the child
afraid of him? Did she think that he blamed her? That he did not
understand how helpless she was before her awakening womanhood? He
forgot how difficult speech was in the overpowering impulse to reassure
her.

"I wish you could be happy; my dear," he said. "You are so young. Can't
you be a little patient? Can't you be content as things are--for a
while?"

Even Spence, blinded as he was by the bitterness of his own struggle,
noticed the strangeness of her look.

"You want things to go on--as they are?"

"Yes. For a time. We had better be quite sure. We do not want a second
mistake."

"You see that there has been a mistake?"

"Can I help seeing it, Desire?"

"No, I suppose not.... And when you are sure?" Her voice was very
low.

"When I--when we are both sure, I shall act. There are ways out. It
ought not to be difficult."

"No, quite easy, I think. I hope it will not be long."

His mask of reasonable acquiescence slipped a little at the wistfulness
of her voice.

"Don't speak like that!" he said sharply. "No man is worth it."

Desire smiled. It was such a sure, secret little smile, that it
maddened him.

"You can't--you can't care like that!" he said in a low, furious tone.
"You said you never could!"

"I do," said Desire.

It was the avowal which she had sworn she would never make. Yet she
made it without shame. Love had taught Desire much since the day of the
episode of the photograph. And one of its teachings had to do with the
comparative insignificance of pride. Why should he not know that she
loved him? Of what use a gift that is never given? Besides, as this
leaden week had passed, she knew that, more than anything else, she
wanted truth between them. Now, when he asked it of her, she gave him
truth.

"It is breaking our bargain," she went on with a wavering smile. "But I
was so sure! I cannot even blame myself. It must be possible to be
quite sure and quite wrong at the same time."

"Yes. There is no blame, anywhere. I--I didn't think of what I was
saying."

"Well, then--you will guess th