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She said, with the warmth of total inexperience with villains, "What you have been to me is only what concerns me. You have been good, generous, noble! And I – like you."

"You must not like me."

"I do! I do like you! I shall continue to do so – always – "

"You can not!"

"What? Indeed I can! I like you very much. I defy you to prevent me!"

"I don't want to prevent you – but you mustn't do it."

She sat silent for a moment. Then her lip trembled.

"Why may I not like you?" she asked unsteadily.

"I am not worth it."

He didn't know it, but he had given her the most fascinating answer that a man can give a young girl.

"If you are not worth it," she said tremulously, "you can become so."

"No, I never can."

"Why do you say that? No matter what a man has done – a young man – such as you – he can become worthy again of a girl's friendship – if he wishes to."

"I never could become worthy of yours."

"Why? What have you done? I don't care anyway. If you – if you want my – my friendship you can have it."

"No," he groaned, "I am sunk too low to even dream of it! You don't know – you don't know what you're saying. I am beyond the pale!"

He clutched his temples and shuddered. For a moment she gazed at him piteously, then her timid hand touched his arm.

"I can't bear to see you in despair," she faltered, " – you who have been so good to me. Please don't be unhappy – because – I want you to be happy – "

"I can never be that."

"Why?"

"Because – I am in love!"

"What?"

"With a girl who – hates me."

"Oh," she said faintly. Then the surprise in her eyes faded vaguely into wistfulness, and into something almost tender as she gazed at his bowed head.

"Any girl," she said, scarcely knowing what she was saying, "who could not love such a man as you is an absolutely negligible quantity."

His hands fell from his face and he sat up.

"Could you?"

"What?" she said, not understanding.

"Could you do what – what I – mentioned just now?"

She looked curiously at him for a moment, not comprehending. Suddenly a rose flush stained her face.

"I don't think you mean to say that to me," she said quietly.

"Yes," he said, "I do mean to say it… Because, since I first saw you, I have – have dared to – to be in love with you."

"With me! We – you have not known me an hour!"

"I have known you three days."

"What?"

"I am George Z. Green!"

XXV

Minute after minute throbbed in silence, timed by the loud rhythm of the roaring wheels. He did not dare lift his head to look at her, though her stillness scared him. Awful and grotesque thoughts assailed him. He wondered whether she had survived the blow – and like an assassin he dared not look to see what he had done, but crouched there, overwhelmed with misery such as he never dreamed that a human heart could endure.

A century seemed to have passed before, far ahead, the locomotive whistled warningly for the Ormond station.

He understood what it meant, and clutched his temples, striving to gather courage sufficient to lift his head and face her blazing contempt – or her insensible and inanimate but beautiful young form lying in a merciful faint on the floor of the baggage car.

And at last he lifted his head.

She had risen and was standing by the locked side doors, touching her eye-lashes with her handkerchief.

When he rose, the train was slowing down. Presently the baggage master came in, yawning; the side doors were unbolted and flung back as the car glided along a high, wooden platform.

They were standing side by side now; she did not look at him, but when the car stopped she laid her hand lightly on his arm.

Trembling in every fibre, he drew the little, gloved hand through his arm and aided her to descend.

"Are you unhappy?" he whispered tremulously.

"No… What are we to do?"

"Am I to say?"

"Yes," she said faintly.

"Shall I register as your brother?"