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“I know,” she said. “I have only just heard you’re living here all alone, and I came to say—Maurice—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you cared so much, or”

“Don’t,” he said, stopping the confession as a good batsman stops a cricket ball. “Believe me, I’ve not made myself a hermit because of—all that. I had a book to write—that was all. And—and it’s very kind of you to come and look me up, and I wish I could ask you to come in, but And it’s nice of you to take an interest in an old friend—you said you would, didn’t you, in the letter—and—I’ve taken the advice you gave me.”

“You mean you’ve fallen in love with some one else.”

“You remember what you said in your letter.”

“Some one nicer and worthier, I said,” returned Camilla blankly, “but I never thought And is she?”

“Of course she seems so to me,” said he, smiling at her to express friendly feeling.

“Then—good-bye—I wish you the best of good fortune.”

“You said that in your letter, too,” said he. “Good-bye.”