Darrow was still standing on her threshold. As she put thequestion he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

　　His heart was beating a little faster than usual and he hadno clear idea of what he was about to do or say, beyond thedefinite conviction that, whatever passing impulse ofexpiation moved him, he would not be fool enough to tell herthat he had not sent her letter. He knew that mostwrongdoing works, on the whole, less mischief than itsuseless confession; and this was clearly a case where apassing folly might be turned, by avowal, into a seriousoffense.

　　"I'm so sorry--so sorry; but you must let me help you...Youwill let me help you?" he said.

　　He took her hands and pressed them together between his,counting on a friendly touch to help out the insufficiencyof words. He felt her yield slightly to his clasp, andhurried on without giving her time to answer.

　　"Isn't it a pity to spoil our good time together byregretting anything you might have done to prevent ourhaving it?"She drew back, freeing her hands. Her face, losing its lookof appealing confidence, was suddenly sharpened by distrust.

　　"You didn't forget to post my letter?"Darrow stood before her, constrained and ashamed, and evermore keenly aware that the betrayal of his distress must bea greater offense than its concealment.

　　"What an insinuation!" he cried, throwing out his hands witha laugh.

　　Her face instantly melted to laughter. "Well, then--IWON'T be sorry; I won't regret anything except that ourgood time is over!"The words were so unexpected that they routed all hisresolves. If she had gone on doubting him he could probablyhave gone on deceiving her; but her unhesitating acceptanceof his word made him hate the part he was playing. At thesame moment a doubt shot up its serpenthead in his ownbosom. Was it not he rather than she who was childishlytrustful? Was she not almost too ready to take his word, anddismiss once for all the tiresome question of the letter?

　　Considering what her experiences must have been, suchtrustfulness seemed open to suspicion. But the moment hiseyes fell on her he was ashamed of the thought, and knew itfor what it really was: another pretext to lessen his owndelinquency.

　　"Why should our good time be over?" he asked. "Whyshouldn't it last a little longer?"She looked up, her lips parted in surprise; but before shecould speak he went on: "I want you to stay with me--I wantyou, just for a few days, to have all the things you'venever had. It's not always May and Paris--why not make themost of them now? You know me--we're not strangers--whyshouldn't you treat me like a friend?"While he spoke she had drawn away a little, but her handstill lay in his. She was pale, and her eyes were fixed onhim in a gaze in which there was neither distrust orresentment, but only an ingenuous wonder. He wasextraordinarily touched by her expression.

　　"Oh, do! You must. Listen: to prove that I'm sincere I'lltell you...I'll tell you I didn't post your letter...Ididn't post it because I wanted so much to give you a fewgood hours...and because I couldn't bear to have you go."He had the feeling that the words were being uttered inspite of him by some malicious witness of the scene, and yetthat he was not sorry to have them spoken.

　　The girl had listened to him in silence. She remainedmotionless for a moment after he had ceased to speak; thenshe snatched away her hand.

　　"You didn't post my letter? You kept it back on purpose? Andyou tell me so NOW, to prove to me that I'd better putmyself under your protection?" She burst into a laugh thathad in it all the piercing echoes of her Murrett past, andher face, at the same moment, underwent the same change,shrinking into a small malevolent white mask in which theeyes burned black. "Thank you--thank you most awfully fortelling me! And for all your other kind intentions! Theplan's delightful--really quite delightful, and I'mextremely flattered and obliged."She dropped into a seat beside her dressing-table, restingher chin on her lifted hands, and laughing out at him underthe elf-lock which had shaken itself down over her eyes.

　　Her outburst did not offend the young man; its immediateeffect was that of allaying his agitation. The theatricaltouch in her manner made his offense seem more venial thanhe had thought it a moment before.

　　He drew up a chair and sat down beside her. "After all," hesaid, in a tone of good-humoured protest, "I needn't havetold you I'd kept back your letter; and my telling you seemsrather strong proof that I hadn't any very nefarious designson you."She met this with a shrug, but he did not give her time toanswer. "My designs," he continued with a smile, "were notnefarious. I saw you'd been through a bad time with Mrs.

　　Murrett, and that there didn't seem to be much fun ahead foryou; and I didn't see--and I don't yet see--the harm oftrying to give you a few hours of amusement between adepressing past and a not particularly cheerful future." Hepaused again, and then went on, in the same tone of friendlyreasonableness: "The mistake I made was not to tell you thisat once--not to ask you straight out to give me a day ortwo, and let me try to make you forget all the things thatare troubling you. I was a fool not to see that if I'd putit to you in that way you'd have accepted or refused, as youchose; but that at least you wouldn't have mistaken myintentions.--Intentions!" He stood up, walked the length ofthe room, and turned back to where she still sat motionless,her elbows propped on the dressing-table, her chin on herhands. "What rubbish we talk about intentions! The truth isI hadn't any: I just liked being with you. Perhaps youdon't know how extraordinarily one can like being withyou...I was depressed and adrift myself; and you made meforget my bothers; and when I found you were going--andgoing back to dreariness, as I was--I didn't see why weshouldn't have a few hours together first; so I left yourletter in my pocket."He saw her face melt as she listened, and suddenly sheunclasped her hands and leaned to him.

　　"But are YOU unhappy too? Oh, I never understood--Inever dreamed it! I thought you'd always had everything inthe world you wanted!"Darrow broke into a laugh at this ingenuous picture of hisstate. He was ashamed of trying to better his case by anappeal to her pity, and annoyed with himself for alluding toa subject he would rather have kept out of his thoughts.

　　But her look of sympathy had disarmed him; his heart wasbitter and distracted; she was near him, her eyes wereshining with compassion--he bent over her and kissed herhand.

　　"Forgive me--do forgive me," he said.

　　She stood up with a smiling head-shake. "Oh, it's not sooften that people try to give me any pleasure--much less twowhole days of it! I sha'n't forget how kind you've been. Ishall have plenty of time to remember. But this IS good-bye, you know. I must telegraph at once to say I'm coming.""To say you're coming? Then I'm not forgiven?""Oh, you're forgiven--if that's any comfort.""It's not, the very least, if your way of proving it is togo away!"She hung her head in meditation. "But I can't stay.--HowCAN I stay?" she broke out, as if arguing with someunseen monitor.

　　"Why can't you? No one knows you're here...No one need everknow."She looked up, and their eyes exchanged meanings for a rapidminute. Her gaze was as clear as a boy's. "Oh, it's notTHAT," she exclaimed, almost impatiently; "it's not peopleI'm afraid of! They've never put themselves out for me--whyon earth should I care about them?"He liked her directness as he had never liked it before.

　　"Well, then, what is it? Not ME, I hope?""No, not you: I like you. It's the money! With me that'salways the root of the matter. I could never yet afford atreat in my life!"Is THAT all?" He laughed, relieved by her naturalness.

　　"Look here; since we re talking as man to man--can't youtrust me about that too?""Trust you? How do you mean? You'd better not trustME!" she laughed back sharply. "I might never be able topay up!"His gesture brushed aside the allusion. "Money may be theroot of the matter; it can't be the whole of it, betweenfriends. Don't you think one friend may accept a smallservice from another without looking too far ahead orweighing too many chances? The question turns entirely onwhat you think of me. If you like me well enough to bewilling to take a few days' holiday with me, just for thepleasure of the thing, and the pleasure you'll be giving me,let's shake hands on it. If you don't like me well enoughwe'll shake hands too; only I shall be sorry," he ended.

　　"Oh, but I shall be sorry too!" Her face, as she lifted itto his, looked so small and young that Darrow felt afugitive twinge of compunction, instantly effaced by theexcitement of pursuit.

　　"Well, then?" He stood looking down on her, his eyespersuading her. He was now intensely aware that hisnearness was having an effect which made it less and lessnecessary for him to choose his words, and he went on, moremindful of the inflections of his voice than of what he wasactually saying: "Why on earth should we say good-bye ifwe're both sorry to? Won't you tell me your reason? It's nota bit like you to let anything stand in the way of yoursaying just what you feel. You mustn't mind offending me,you know!"She hung before him like a leaf on the meeting of cross-currents, that the next ripple may sweep forward or whirlback. Then she flung up her head with the odd boyishmovement habitual to her in moments of excitement. "What Ifeel? Do you want to know what I feel? That you're giving methe only chance I've ever had!"She turned about on her heel and, dropping into the nearestchair, sank forward, her face hidden against the dressing-table.

　　Under the folds of her thin summer dress the modelling ofher back and of her lifted arms, and the slight hollowbetween her shoulder-blades, recalled the faint curves of aterra-cotta statuette, some young image of grace hardly morethan sketched in the clay. Darrow, as he stood looking ather, reflected that her character, for all its seemingfirmness, its flashing edges of "opinion", was probably noless immature. He had not expected her to yield so suddenlyto his suggestion, or to confess her yielding in that way.

　　At first he was slightly disconcerted; then he saw how herattitude simplified his own. Her behaviour had all theindecision and awkwardness of inexperience. It showed thatshe was a child after all; and all he could do--all he hadever meant to do--was to give her a child's holiday to lookback to.

　　For a moment he fancied she was crying; but the next she wason her feet and had swept round on him a face she must haveturned away only to hide the first rush of her pleasure.

　　For a while they shone on each other without speaking; thenshe sprang to him and held out both hands.

　　"Is it true? Is it really true? Is it really going to happento ME?"He felt like answering: "You're the very creature to whom itwas bound to happen"; but the words had a double sense thatmade him wince, and instead he caught her proffered handsand stood looking at her across the length of her arms,without attempting to bend them or to draw her closer. Hewanted her to know how her words had moved him; but histhoughts were blurred by the rush of the same emotion thatpossessed her, and his own words came with an effort.

　　He ended by giving her back a laugh as frank as her own, anddeclaring, as he dropped her hands: "All that and more too--you'll see!"