y it to
Ferriss; why can't you say it to me?"

"To Mr. Ferriss?"

"You could tell _him_ that you cared."

"I--tell Mr. Ferriss--that I cared for you?" She began to smile. "You
are a little absurd, Mr. Bennett."

"And I cannot see why you should deny it now. Or if anything has caused
you to change your mind--to be sorry for what you said, why should I not
know it? Even a petty thief may be heard in his own defence. I loved you
because I believed you to be a woman, a great, strong, noble, man's
woman, above little things, above the little, niggling, contemptible
devices of the drawing-room. I loved you because the great things of the
world interested you, because you had no place in your life for petty
graces, petty affectations, petty deceits and shams and insincerities.
If you did not love me, why did you say so? If you do love me now, why
should you not admit it? Do you think you can play with me? Do you think
you can coquette with me? If you were small enough to stoop to such
means, do you think I am small enough to submit to them? I have known
Ferriss too well. I know him to be incapable of such falsity as you
would charge him with. To have told such a lie, such an uncalled-for,
useless, gratuitous lie, is a thing he could not have done. You must
have told him that you cared. Why aren't you--you of all women--brave
enough, strong enough, big enough to stand by your words?"

"Because I never said them. What do you think of me? Even if I did care,
do you suppose I would say as much--and to another man? Oh!" she
exclaimed with sudden indignation, "let's talk of something else. This
is too--preposterous."

"You never told Ferriss that you cared for me?"

"No."

Bennett took off his cap. "Very well, then. That is enough. Good-bye,
Miss Searight."

"Do you believe I told Mr. Ferriss I loved you?"

"I do not believe that the man who has been more to me than a brother is
a liar and a rascal."

"Good-morning, Mr. Bennett."

They had come rather near to the farmhouse by this time. Without another
word Bennett gave the whip and the lap-robe into her hands, and, turning
upon his heel, walked away down the road.

Lloyd told Lewis as much of the morning's accident by the canal as was
necessary, and gave orders about the dog-cart and the burying of Rox.
Then slowly, her eyes fixed and wide, she went up to her own room and,
without removing either her hat or her gloves, sat down upon the edge of
the bed, letting he