that Edith could have cried; but she said
what she thought:

"Secrets are horrid, Maurice. You've made a mistake."

"A 'mistake'?" He almost laughed at the devilish humor of that little
word 'mistake,' as applied to his ruined life. "Well, yes, Edith; I made
a 'mistake,' all right."

"Oh, I don't mean a 'mistake' as to this thing you say that Eleanor
wouldn't like," Edith said. "I mean not telling her."

He shook his head; with that nagging thought of Jacky in the back of his
mind, it was impossible not to smile at her dogmatic ignorance.

"Because," Edith explained, "secrets trip you into fibbing."

"You bet they do! I'm quite an accomplished liar."

Edith did not smile; she spoke with impatient earnestness: "That's
perfectly silly; you are not a liar! You couldn't lie to save your life,
and you know it." Maurice laughed. "Why, Maurice, don't you suppose I
know you, through and through? _I_ know what you are!--a 'perfec' gentil
knight.'"

She laughed, and Maurice threw up his hands.

"Bouquets," Edith conceded, grinning; "but I won't hand out any more, so
you needn't fish! Well, I don't know what on earth you've done, and I
don't care; and you can't tell me, of course! But one thing I do know;
it isn't fair to Eleanor not to tell her, because--"

"My dear child--"

"Because she wouldn't really mind, she's so awfully devoted to you. Oh,
Maurice, do tell Eleanor!" Then, even as she spoke, she was frightened;
what was this thing that he did not dare to tell Eleanor?--"or me?"
Edith thought. It couldn't be that Maurice--was not good? Edith quailed
at herself. She had a quick impulse to say, "Forgive me, Maurice, for
even thinking of such a horrid thing!" But all she said, aloud, briefly,
was, "As I see it, telling Eleanor would be playing the game."

Maurice put his hand over her fist, clenched with conviction on her
knee. "Skeezics," he said, "you are the soundest thing the Lord ever
made! As it happens, it's a thing I can't talk about--to anybody. But
I'll never forget this, Edith. And ... dear, I'm glad you're going to be
happy; you deserve the best man on earth, and old Johnny comes mighty
darned near being the best!"

Edith, frowning, rose abruptly. "Please don't talk that way. I hate that
sort of talk! Johnny is my friend; that's all. So, please never--"

"I won't," Maurice said, meekly; but some swift exultation made him add
to himself, "Poor old Johnny!" His face was radiant.

As for Edith, she h