I never shall love again. But I am bound in
honour not to disappoint the man who _knows_ I have waited for him.
Miss Ann admitted to me to-night that she has told him. She said, in
the first moments of joy she _had_ to tell him; he was so anxious; and
so diffident. Boy dear, had it not been for that, I think I should
have begged off. But--as he knows--as they have trusted me--dear, we
must say 'good-bye' to-night. He is going to write to me to-morrow,
asking if he may come. I shall say: 'Yes.' ... Boy dear? Is it very
hard? ... Oh, can't you see where duty comes in? There can be no true
happiness if one has failed to be true to what one knows is just and
right.... Can't you realize, Boy, that _they_ have been everything to
me for seven _years_? _You_ have come in, for seven _days_."

"Time is nothing," said the Boy, suddenly. "You and I are one,
Christobel; eternally, indissolubly _one_. You will find it out, when
it is too late. Age is nothing! Time is nothing! Love is all!"

She hesitated. The Boy's theories were so vital, so vigorous, so
assured. Was she making a mistake? There was no question as to the
pain involved by her decision; but was that pain to result as she
believed, in higher good to all; or was it to mean irreparable loss?
The very knowledge that her body so yearned for him, led her to
emphasize the fact that the Boy could not--oh surely could not--be a
fit mate for her mind. Yet he was so confident, so sure of himself, in
regard to her, on every point; so unhesitatingly certain that they were
meant for each other.

And then she saw Ann Harvey, with clasped hands, saying: "_Darling_
child, forgive me, but I _had_ to tell Kenrick! He is so _humble_--he
was so _diffident_, so doubtful of his own powers of attraction. I
_had_ to tell him that I knew you had been very fond of him for
_years_. I did not say much, sweet child; but just enough to give dear
Kenrick _hope_ and _confidence_."

She could see Miss Ann's delicate wrinkled face; the tearful eyes; the
lavender ribbons on her lace cap; the mysterious hair-brooch, fastening
the old lace at her neck. The scene was photographed upon her memory;
for, in that moment, Hope--the young Hope, born of the youthful Boy and
his desires--had died. Christobel Charteris had taken up the burden of
life; a life apart from the seven days' romance, created by the amazing
over-confidence of her Little Boy Blue.

The masterful man attracts; but,