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 you. You understand me, Angus? I would be very, very proud to think I—had qualities which would make a man like you—care for me…. Any girl would be proud. Lydia would be.”

Angus only shook his head.

“Perhaps,” said Myrtle, “you’re making her miserable—who knows? Nobody can tell what Lydia’s thinking…. You haven’t any right to keep it from her. How do you know but what she’s—she’s wanting, and wanting, and wanting you to tell her?”

He turned his back upon her, not brusquely, but with the instinct of all animal life to conceal its wound. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Think about what I’ve said…. It’s true…. I know….” She walked to the door, stopped, and said softly, “Speak to her, Angus…. Good-by.”

That night Myrtle was tactful enough to place Angus and Lydia at different tables. As hostess she watched them closely—especially closely did she scrutinize Lydia, so closely, indeed, that Lydia became uneasily conscious of her scrutiny…. After the dishes were cleared away Myrtle found an opportunity to whisper to Angus. “You must speak to her—to-night…. It will be all right. I—I know it will be.”

Angus turned his grave face toward her and