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 smiled. “I thought it all out this afternoon,” he said in reply. “I can’t do it—ever.”

“I tell you she wants you to.”

“No…. And even if that were true—I shouldn’t ask her to marry me. It would pull her down.”

“Bosh!” Myrtle said in hopeless impatience.

Lydia watched Angus covertly while the meal was in progress. Not once had his glance met hers, for he kept his face turned away from her resolutely; dared not look at her for fear of the story his eyes might tell. Lydia was piqued—but presently she understood. She comprehended that his solicitude was for her peace of mind. He was thinking of her, not of himself. He was unselfish, fine, chivalric! With these qualities she endowed him, and her heart beat the higher because of it…. It was after Myrtle found these things in her eyes that she urged Angus to speak….

Since the day of that fateful encounter Angus had not been alone in trouble of spirit. Perhaps Lydia’s emotions had been more painful than his, because her mind was quicker, her imagination more vivid; certainly her outward agitation had been greater. Nights had been spent in tears and self-examinings—in attempted self-deception which did not deceive.

“I do not love him,” she whispered again and