t you will have nothing more to do with me, I don't know
what will become of me. You are the only woman I care for. _Don't_ throw
me over, Margaret. There's one thing that may happen," she added,
looking at her friend with luminous gaze, "I may stop caring for Lucian
of my own accord before long; you know I stopped caring for Evert."

"Oh, Garda! Garda!" murmured Margaret, putting her hand over her eyes.

"You are shocked because I tell you the exact truth. I believe you would
like it better if I should dress it up, and pretend to have all sorts of
reasons. But I never have reasons, I only know how I feel; and you can't
make me believe, either, that it isn't better to be true about your
feelings whatever they are, than to tell lies just to make people think
well of you."

"Garda, promise me not to see Lucian in this way again; that is, not to
plan to see him," said Margaret, with a kind of desperation in her tone.

"Why, how can you suppose I would ever promise that?" asked Garda,
astonished.

"Very well. Then I shall speak to him myself." And as she stood there,
her tall slender figure outlined in white, her dark blue eyes fixed on
the girl, Margaret Harold looked almost menacing.

"No, I don't think you would do that," answered Garda; "because as he
doesn't care for me, it would be like throwing me at his head; and that
you wouldn't like because you have a pride about it--for Evert's sake, I
mean. Why don't you tell Evert instead of Lucian? I've thought of
telling Evert myself. The idea of his needing to be told!"

"It's because he has such a perfect belief in you," began Margaret. "He
would never dream that you could--" She stopped, her lips had begun to
tremble a little.

But Garda was not paying heed to what Margaret was saying. "No, you'll
never speak to Lucian," she repeated, "I know you never will; you
couldn't."

"You're right, I couldn't. And the reason would be because I should be
ashamed--ashamed for you."

But Garda was not moved by this. "I don't see why we should be ashamed
of our real feelings," she said again, with a sort of sweet stolidity.

"We go through life, Garda, more than half of us--women, I mean--obliged
always to conceal our real feelings."

"Then _that_ I never will do;" said Garda, warmly. "And you shall see
whether I come out any the worse for it in the end."

"You intend to do what you please, no matter who suffers?"

"They needn't suffer, it's silly to suffer. They'd bett