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 with sharp annoyance; and the gayety went out of her expression at once.

"You owed me that," she said quietly, "and I certainly deserved it. I'm afraid I'll have to admit even more. From the first, I've said hardly a word to you that hasn't been terrifically personal, and I realize my atrociousness thoroughly, Mr. Ogle. It mortifies me all you'd wish, when I'm alone and think it over."

Something in her tone, something genuine, hinting of real emotion, compelled him then; and for a moment they looked at each other frankly and with an odd, grave, friendly curiosity. "I don't wish any such thing," he said. "And as for being mortified about anything concerned with me, I'm not worth anybody's bothering that much."

She may have been tempted to tell him again that he'd changed a great deal; but she restrained herself, and merely nodded, once more smiling.

"I was bothering about myself, not about you; though since you speak of worth, you're worth bothering about any amount more than I am." And as he made a sound of protest, she checked him. "Why, certainly you are! You've done something in the world—your best; and all I've done has been to make myself disagreeable—my worst. We can't argue