a dozen times, but I could not screw up my courage to
do any more. The look of the place daunted me, to begin with. To think
of Alice Beveridge shut up there! Besides, I'm a soldier; my life has
been spent among men; I haven't the pluck to face a houseful of women.
Be a good angel, and let us meet here once more! I was too much
overcome yesterday to know what I was saying, but something must be
done, and done quickly. I can't go on living as I am, and think of her
working for her living. Of course, you know what it all means. You are
a woman, and women are quick enough at guessing these things. I never
cared for another woman. I was a middle-aged man when we met, and it
went very hard with me when she said Number 1 was not a boy, to forget
at the sight of the next pretty face. I have tried to make the best of
things, but it's been lonely work. I went abroad immediately after she
refused me, and heard no more about her. She was visiting a common
friend when we met. I knew nothing of her family, so we simply passed
out of each other's lives. I always thought of her as happily married
years ago; it never dawned upon me that there could have been any
misunderstanding, but yesterday when we met there was something in her
face, her manner-- She seemed almost as much agitated as I was myself.
I may be a conceited old idiot, but it seemed to me as if she _had_
cared after all,--as if there had been some mistake! Women talk to each
other more openly than we do. If she told you anything about it, I
think you ought to let me know. I have waited a long time!"

There was a pathos in the sound of those last few words which went
straight to Mrs Trevor's heart, and she answered as frankly as he had
spoken.

"Yes, indeed, it has been a hard time for you both. Miss Beveridge
quite broke down after you left last night, and I gathered from what she
said that at the time of your proposal she was taken by surprise, and
felt nervous and uncertain of herself, as girls often do. It was only
after you had sailed, and she was at home again, that she realised what
a blank your absence made, and knew that she had loved you all the time.
She hoped you might write, or see her on your return."

"But she had not the courage to write herself, and acknowledge her
mistake? Well, well! Women have their own code of honour, I suppose,
but it would have been a gracious act. I remembered her always, but it
did not seem to me the straig