be together. I love you, Janet—you know I love you. I loved you from the first day."
She had drawn back from him; the colour had gone a little from her cheeks, but her blue eyes, wider now, while troubled, were steady, full of calm self-possession.
"Oh, I am sorry for—for this, Mr. Merton," she said in a low voice.
Merton stared at her a moment a numbed, almost surprised look on his face. Tastefully dressed, of tall, good figure, his dark face not unhandsome, there was something almost appealing in him as he stood there.
"You mean," he said hoarsely, "you mean you do not love me?"
She shook her head.
"No," she said; "I do not love you. I do not want to hurt you. I am very, very sorry this has happened. I did not know that you—that you felt that way toward me; I—"
"But these months, two months, that I have been coming here," Merton interrupted quickly. "Surely you knew that—"
Again she shook her head.
"I did not think of it in that way," she answered. "We were friends, and dad and I were glad to have you come. I liked you for what brought you here first, and we were very sorry for the—for what had come into your life. We thought you liked us, that you found some relief in coming here and—and that was all. I do not love yon, Mr. Merton; indeed, I do not even know you."
"Know me?" repeated Merton, a tinge of affront creeping into his voice.
