"

"There's nothing wrong but that. I--I made a mistake."

"You only thought you liked me? Or is it worse than that?"

"It's worse, far worse."

"I see. You tried to like me, and you couldn't?"

She was silent.

"Poor child. I've been a selfish brute. I might have known you couldn't.
You've hardly known me ten days. But if I wait, Kitty--if I give you
time to think?"

"If you give me ten years it would do no good."

"I see," he said; "I see."

He gripped the edge of the mantelpiece with both his hands; his tense
arms trembled from the shoulders to the wrists; his hold relaxed. He
straightened himself and hid his shaking hands in his coat pockets.
There were tears at the edges of his eyelids, the small, difficult tears
that cut their way through the flesh that abhors them.

She saw them.

"Ah, Robert--do you care for me like that?"

"You know how I care for you."

He stopped as he swung away from her, remembering that he had failed in
courtesy.

"Thank you," he said, simply, "for telling me the truth."

He reached the door, and she rose and came after him. He shook his head
as a sign to her not to follow him. She saw that he was going from her
because he was tortured and dumb with suffering and with shame.

Then she knew what she must do. She called to him, she entreated.

"Robert--don't go. Come back--come back. I can't bear it."

He came back at that cry.

"I haven't told you the truth. I lied."

"When?" he said sternly.

"Just now. When I told you that I didn't care for you."

"Well?"

"Sit down--here, on the sofa. I'll try and tell you."

He sat down beside her, but not near. She leaned forward with her
elbows on her knees, and her head propped on her clenched hands. She did
not look at him as she spoke.

"I said I didn't care, because I thought that was the easiest way out of
it. Easiest for you. So much easier than knowing the truth."

He smiled grimly.

"Well, you see how easy it's been."

"Yes." She paused. "The truth isn't going to be easy either."

"Let's have it, all the same, Kitty."

"You're going to have it." She paused again, breathing hard. "Have you
never wondered why the people here avoided me? You know they thought
things."

"As if it mattered what they thought."

"They were right. There _was_ something."

She heard him draw a deep breath. He, too, leaned forward now, in the
same attitude as she, as if he were the participator of her confession,
and the acco