blow to her self-esteem she could not escape--but might
he not save her pride the lasting sting of even a partial publicity? How
could this best be done? To speak to a man of Forbes' character would be
a waste of words and give no protection to the girl. Mr. and Mrs.
Thornton were in Bermuda, and every moment's delay must add insult to
the injury. The girl's chaperone was a foolish hysterical old aunt whose
idea of action in emergency would probably begin and end in a telegram.
What if he undertook the task himself? He was a rival and she might not
believe him? There was no chance for disbelief. If she required
proofs--they were at hand. His knowledge of her humiliation would make
her hate the sight of his face, and she would never forget or forgive
it? He would still have saved her something of bitterness, and for this
there was no sacrifice he would not make.

Now I do not propose to argue that Williams took the wisest course even
if Mr. and Mrs. Thornton were in Bermuda--I am not prepared to say he
was not quixotic--I am ready to admit he was disqualified from acting
either as tale-bearer or guardian, but I do maintain that in taking
upon himself the responsibility of putting the girl in possession of the
facts, he showed far more moral courage than nine out of ten men would
display under similar circumstances.

Had Miss Thornton's mind been built upon broader lines, she would have
appreciated the admirable tact with which Williams handled the whole
subject and understood the delicacy and deference which disclosed the
truth so gradually that she seemed to discover it for herself. But Miss
Thornton's mind was somewhat self-centred, and as she heard his story
her pretty face showed nothing but its prettiness. She listened to the
words of the man, but took no note of his quiet, sympathetic tone.
Suddenly the situation dawned upon her. Her cheeks flushed, her hands,
which had been clasped behind her shapely head, fell, and she sat there
in the half light of the cozy drawing-room gazing before her without
seeing the pained and tenderly anxious glance of the man who stood
looking down at her.

"Good night, Miss Thornton.--Won't you even say good-bye?"

There was no answer from the girl who, with elbows on knees and her
chin in her hands, stared into the fading fire as though unconscious of
his presence.

"Good-bye, then, Miss Thornton, and--and God keep you--dear!"

Now it may be true, as her garrulous old aunt told