eforward he was safe, for Ellen
would fiercely forbid him to be anything but gentle. Now that he
realised how good their relationship was he wanted it to be perfect, and
therefore he felt vexed that he had not yet made it perfectly honest by
telling her about his mother. He resolved to do so there and then, for
he felt that that kiss had sealed the evening to a serenity in which
pain surely could not live.

"You're walking slower than you were," said Ellen sharply. "What was it
you were thinking of saying?"

He answered slowly, "I was thinking of something that I ought to tell
you about myself."

She looked sideways at him as they passed under a lamp, and wrote in her
heart, "When the vein stands out in the middle of his forehead I will
know that he is worried," then said aloud, "Och, if it's anything
disagreeable, don't bother to tell me. I'll just take it for granted
that till you met me you were a bad character."

"It's nothing that I've done. It's something that was done to my mother
and myself." He found that after all he could not bear to speak of it,
and began to hurry on, saying loudly, "Oh, it doesn't matter! You poor
little thing, why should I bother you when you're dog-tired with an old
story that can't affect us in the least! It's all over; it's done with.
We've got our own lives to lead, thank God!"

She would not let him hurry on. "What was it, Richard?" she insisted,
and added timidly, "I see I'm vexing you, but I know well it's something
that you ought to tell me!"

He walked on a pace or two, staring at the pavement. "Ellen, I'm
illegitimate." She said nothing, and he exclaimed to himself, "Oh, God,
it's ten to one that the poor child can't make head or tail of it! She
probably knows nothing, absolutely nothing about these things!" Into his
deep concern lest he had troubled the clear waters of her innocence
there was creeping unaccountably a feeling of irritation, which made him
want to shout at her. But he mumbled, "My father and mother weren't
married to each other...."

"Yes, I understand," she said rather indignantly; and after a moment's
silence remarked conversationally, "So that's all, is it?" Then her hand
gripped his and she cried, "Oh, Richard, when you were wee, did the
others twit you with it?"

Oh, God, was she going to take it sentimentally? "No. At least, when
they did I hammered them. But it was awful for my mother."

"Ah, poor thing," she murmured, "isn't it a shame! Mrs. Orm