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 mean; why, perhaps I'd really come to care for you a great deal."

"Go on," he said quietly as she stopped. "Yes. Well, don't you see that's the difficulty? If you could just do all the caring and I—could stay as I am and we could be quite contented together like this, why, it would be pleasant, wouldn't it? But I suppose we couldn't, could we?"

"No," he said hoarsely.

"I suppose not." She sighed. "Then it would mean that—that if I cared for you I'd have to" She was silent. Finally, "I don't think it is so much what we call disgrace that I'd hate. It would be the contempt I'd feel for myself—afterwards. For there'd be an afterwards. There always is, I guess. You see," she turned for the first time and smiled across the darkness, "you see I haven't said anything about marriage, Mr, Ames."

He was silent.

"Well," she went on presently, "there it is, I suppose—no, I know that I shouldn't have come to-night. I knew it when I consented. Don't ask me why I came. Perhaps—perhaps I wanted a