e."

"Whatever it is it's sure to be that."

"I don't mean in that way altogether--" he hesitated, for he had
touched a part of his subject which had to be handled gently; and he
was aware that in handling it at all he was courting rejection of the
gift.

"And you are going to leave it with me now?"

"Yes."

She did not look up, but kept her eyes fixed on the sheets that lay in
her lap, her hands lightly covering them. Was it possible that her
finger-tips had caught the secret of the page beneath them and that
their delicate nerves had already carried it to her brain? Was she
considering what she was to do?

"You will see that one page is left blank; I couldn't fill it up till
I knew whether you would accept the dedication."

"I?" She looked up. She was no doubt surprised; but he thought he
could read something in her look that was deeper and sweeter than
surprise.

"If you could, it would give me great pleasure. It's the only
acknowledgement I can make for all your kindness."

"Please, please don't talk of my kindness."

"I won't. If it were any other book, it might be merely a question of
acknowledgement, but this book belongs to you."

"Are you quite sure--" She was about to question his right to offer
it, which was as good as questioning his honour, as good as assuming
that--She paused, horrified as she realized what it was that she had
almost assumed. Kitty had often told her that she erred through excess
of subtlety. It wouldn't have mattered with anybody less subtle than
Keith Rickman; but he would see it all. He did.

"Quite sure that I oughtn't to offer it to anybody else? I am quite
sure. It was written four years ago, before--before I knew anybody
else. It has nothing to do with anybody else, it couldn't have been
dedicated to anybody else. If you don't accept it--"

"But I do." Her eagerness was the natural recoil from her hesitation.
She was so anxious to atone for that shocking blunder she had made.

"I say, how you do take things on trust."

"Some things."

"But you mustn't. You can't accept the dedication of a book you
haven't read. Do you know, now I come to think of it, you've always
taken me on trust? Do you remember when first I came to you--it's more
than five years ago--you took me on trust then?" (Their talk had a way
of running to this refrain of 'Do you remember?') "Do you remember how
you said,' I must risk it'?"

"Yes, I remember how I insisted on keeping you, and how ve