"I do not love Mr. Thurber," I continued; "therefore, I refused him." I looked steadily at George's downcast head as I spoke. "Many years ago, when I was seventeen years old, I was engaged to be married. The man whom I loved dearly enough to promise to marry, in spite of the opposition of my family, was taken from me by death. Since then I have seen no one who has tempted me to be false to my first love. I give you this explanation, not because you have any right to it, but to justify myself. Now, I hope I shall never see you again!" and I buried my face in my hands, feeling that it was useless to struggle against the sobs which would make themselves heard.
The faint crackle of the fire was the only other sound in the room for a few minutes. Presently George's hand touched my arm, and rested there for a second, as he said, in a low, gentle voice,—
"Don't cry, my darling! I love you, and I cannot bear to see you cry."
I raised my head suddenly, and turned my tear-stained face on him.
"What do you tell me?" I cried.
He met my astounded look with a pair of honest, sorrowful eyes. I dropped back into my chair, and covered my face again, while silence fell upon us.
"I suppose," said George sadly, "that I am doubly hateful to you now. I will go away from here to-night, and you shall never see me again, if that is your wish. It is a humiliation to have confessed that, in spite of your contempt, your want of confidence in me, and the
