A flush of pleasure passed over Kate's face, and when she raised her eyes her look seemed to have caught some of the brightness of the sunset. But it died into grey gloom even as the light above, and she said sighing: 'I don't suppose he'd marry me.' 'Well, if he wouldn't, there are lots who would.' 'What do you mean?' asked Kate simply. 'Oh, nothing; only I should think that anyone would be glad to marry you,' the young man answered, hoping that she would not repeat the conversation to her lover. 'I hope he will; for if he were to leave me, I think I should die. But tell me--you will, won't you? For you are my friend, aren't you?' 'I hope so,' he replied constrainedly. 'Well, tell me the truth: do you think he can be constant to a woman? Does he get tired easily? Does he like change?' Kate laid her hand on Montgomery's shoulder, and looked pleadingly in his face. 'Dick is an awful good fellow, and I'm sure he couldn't but behave well to anyone he liked--not to say loved; and I know that he never cared for anybody as he does for you; he as much as told me.' Kate's smile was expressive of pleasure and weariness, and after a pause, she said: 'I hope what you say is true; but I don't think men ever love as women do. When we give our heart to one man, we cannot love another. I don't know why, but I don't believe that a man could be quite faithful to a woman.' 'That's all nonsense. I'm sure that if I loved a woman it wouldn't occur to me to think of another.' 'Perhaps you might,' she answered; and, unconsciously comparing them with Dick's jovial features, she examined intently the enormous nose and the hollow, sunken cheeks. Montgomery wondered what she was thinking of, and he half guessed that she was considering if it were possible that any woman could care for him. To die without ever having been able to inspire an affection was a fear that was habitual to him, and often at night he lay awake, racked by the thought that his ugliness would ever debar him from attaining this dearly desired end. 'Were you ever in love with anybody?' she asked, after a long silence. 'Yes, once.' 'And did she care for you?' 'Yes, I think she did at first. We used to meet at dinner every day; but then she fell in love with an acrobat--I suppose you would call him an acrobat--I mean one of those gutta-percha men who tie their legs in a knot over their heads. The child was deformed. I was awfully cut up about it at the time, but it's all over now.' The conversation then came to a pause. Kate did not like to ask any further questions, but as she stared vaguely at the pale sun setting, she wondered what the acrobat was like, and how a girl could prefer a gutta-percha man to the musician. As the minutes passed, the silence grew more irritating, and the evening colder. 'I'm afraid we shall catch a chill if we remain here much longer, said Montgomery, who had again begun to sing his waltz over.