it down.
I suppose you can guess why I've asked you to come," she continued
after a pause. "But it is a little hard to say. I want you to forgive
me."

"There is nothing to forgive," said Paul.

"Don't be ungenerous; you know there is. I left you to bear everything
alone."

"You were more than justified. You found me an impostor. You were
wounded in everything you held sacred. I wounded you deliberately. You
could do nothing else but go away. Heaven forbid that I should have
thought of blaming you. I didn't. I understood."

"But it was I who did not understand," she said, looking at the rings
on her fingers. "Yes. You are right. I was wounded--like an animal, I
hid myself in the country, and I hoped you would write, which was
foolish, for I knew you wouldn't. Then I felt that if I had loved you
as I ought, I should never have gone away."

"I thought it best to kill your love outright," said Paul.

She lay back on her cushions, very fair, very alluring, very sad. From
where he sat he saw her face in its delicate profile, and he had a
mighty temptation to throw himself on his knees by her side.

"I thought, too, you had killed it," she said.

"Still think so," said Paul, in a low voice.

She raised herself, bent forward, and he met the blue depths of her
gaze. "And you? Your love?"

"I never did anything to kill it."

"But I did."

"No, you couldn't. I shall love you to the hour of my death." He saw
the light leap into her eyes. "I only say it," he added somewhat
coldly, "because I will lie to you no longer. But it's a matter that
concerns me alone."

"How you alone? Am not I to be considered?"

He rose and stood on the hearthrug, facing her. "I consider you all the
time," said he.

"Listen, mon cher ami," she said, looking up at him. "Let us understand
one another. Is there anything about you, your birth or your life that
I still don't know--I mean, anything essential?"

"Nothing that matters," said Paul.

"Then let us speak once and for all, soul to soul. You and I are of
those who can do it. Eh bien. I am a woman of old family, princely rank
and fortune--you--"

"By my father's death," said Paul, for the second time that day, "I am
a rich man. We can leave out the question of fortune--except that the
money I inherit was made out of a fried-fish shop business. That
business was conducted by my father on lines of peculiar idealism. It
will be my duty to carry on his work--at least"--he inwardly a