for the man. He felt as
he might have done had he seen some deadly thing coiled about her so
closely that he could not strike it without wounding her tender breast.
The trouble had been like that from the first and it was like that
now--perhaps it always would be. He did not know what to do or say, with
her blue eyes appealing from him to Philip Alston. He was glad when
William Pressley broke the silence. The young lawyer had been thinking
hard; he never did anything on mere impulse. He always stopped to
consider how a thing would look, no matter how angry he might be. His
vanity had been slowly swallowing a bitter morsel, and it was now quite
clear to him that he must act promptly in order to escape a still
bitterer humiliation. Moreover, the chief consideration which had kept
him from allowing Ruth to break the engagement sooner, was now removed.
Philip Alston could hardly blame him in view of what had happened; no
one could think ill of him now.

"Just a moment, if you please," he said coldly and bitterly, addressing
all who were present. "There is no cause for delay or hesitation so far
as I can see--certainly there need be none on my account. The engagement
between Ruth and myself was tacitly broken some weeks ago. She has been
over-scrupulous in thinking that anything was due me. She was quite free
from any promise to me. You owe me nothing," turning to her with a bow.
"You have my best wishes."

She went to him, holding out her hand. "William, it hurts me to hear you
speak like that. I did my best to tell you--alone--and earlier. We were
both mistaken--neither was to blame. There surely is no reason for hard
feeling. My affection for you is just the same. William, dear--just for
old time's sake."

He took her hand, not because her loving gentleness won his forgiveness,
but because he thought that no gentleman could refuse a lady's hand. And
when she turned away with a long sigh and quivering lips, he stood firm
and invincible, supported by the conviction that he alone of all those
present had been right in everything. And such a conviction of one's own
infallibility must be a very great support under life's trials and
disappointments. There can hardly be any other armor so nearly
impenetrable to all those barbed doubts and fears which perpetually
assail and wound the unarmored. Think of what it must mean!--never to
feel that you might have been kinder or more just, or more generous or
more merciful than you we