r--Don't you see how it
hurts her?"

"Yes. I see. So that even that little--" Miss Heydinger's breath
seemed to catch and she was abruptly silent.

She spoke at last with an effort. "That it hurts _me_," she said, and
grimaced and stopped again.

"No," said Lewisham, "that is not it." He hesitated.

"I _knew_ this would hurt you."

"You love her. You can sacrifice--"

"No. It is not that. But there is a difference. Hurting _her_--she
would not understand. But you--somehow it seems a natural thing for me
to come to you. I seem to look to you--For her I am always making
allowances--"

"You love her."

"I wonder if it _is_ that makes the difference. Things are so
complex. Love means anything--or nothing. I know you better than I do
her, you know me better than she will ever do. I could tell you things
I could not tell her. I could put all myself before you--almost--and
know you would understand--Only--"

"You love her."

"Yes," said Lewisham lamely and pulling at his moustache. "I suppose
... that must be it."

For a space neither spoke. Then Miss Heydinger said "_Oh_!" with
extraordinary emphasis.

"To think of this end to it all! That all your promise ... What is it
she gives that I could not have given?

"Even now! Why should I give up that much of you that is mine? If she
could take it--But she cannot take it. If I let you go--you will do
nothing. All this ambition, all these interests will dwindle and die,
and she will not mind. She will not understand. She will think that
she still has you. Why should she covet what she cannot possess? Why
should she be given the thing that is mine--to throw aside?"

She did not look at Lewisham, but before her, her face a white misery.

"In a way--I had come to think of you as something, belonging to me
... I shall--still."

"There is one thing," said Lewisham after a pause, "it is a thing that
has come to me once or twice lately Don't you think that perhaps you
over-estimate the things I might have done? I know we've talked of
great things to do. But I've been struggling for half a year and more
to get the sort of living almost anyone seems able to get. It has
taken me all my time. One can't help thinking after that, perhaps the
world is a stiffer sort of affair ..."

"No," she said decisively. "You could have done great things.

"Even now," she said, "you may do great things--If only I might see
you sometimes, write to you sometimes--You are so capable
an