Brockway shook his head. "You're taking entirely too much for granted," he protested. "It was only a pleasant bit of 'distraction,' as she called it, for her, and there was no word--that is I--oh, confound it all! I couldn't presume on a bit of good comradeship like that!" "You--couldn't--presume! Why, you silly, _silly_ boy, it was the chance of a lifetime! So daringly original--so utterly unhackneyed! And you couldn't presume--I haven't a bit of patience with you." "I'm sorry for that; I need a little sympathy." "You don't deserve it; but perhaps you'd get it if you could show cause." "Can't you see? Don't you understand that nothing can ever come of it?" Brockway demanded, relapsing fathoms deep into the abyss of hopelessness. "Nothing ever will come of it if you go on squandering your chances as you have to-day. What is the matter with you? Are you afraid of the elderly gentleman with the calculating eye?" "Not exactly afraid of him; but he's a millionnaire, and Miss Vennor has a fortune in her own right. And I----" "Don't finish it. I understand your objection; you are poor and proud--and that's as it should be; but tell me--you are in love with Miss Vennor, aren't you? When did it begin?" "A year ago." "You didn't permit yourself to fall in love with her until you knew all about her circumstances and prospects, of course?" "You know better than that. It was--it was what you'd call love at first sight," he confessed, rather shame-facedly; and then he told her how it began. "Very good," said Mrs. Burton, approvingly. "Then you did actually manage to fall in love with Gertrude herself, and not with her money. But now, because you've found out she has money, you are going to spoil your chance of happiness, and possibly hers. Is that it?" Brockway tried to explain. "It's awfully good of you to try to put it in that light, but no one would ever believe that I wasn't mercenary--that I wasn't a shameless cad of a fortune-hunter. I couldn't stand that, you know." "No, of course not; not even for her sake. Besides, she doubtless looks upon you as a fortune-hunter, and----" "What? Indeed she doesn't anything of the kind." "Well, then, if you are sure she doesn't misjudge you, what do you care for the opinion of the world at large?" "Much; when you show me a man who doesn't care for public opinion, I'll show you one who ought to be in jail." "Fudge! Please don't try to hide behind platitudes. But about Gertrude, and your little affair, which is no affair; what are you going to do about it?" "Nothing; there is nothing at all to be done," Brockway replied with gloomy emphasis. "I suppose nothing would ever induce you to forgive her for being rich?" "I can never quite forgive myself for being poor, since it's going to cost me so much." "You are too equivocal for any use. Answer my question," snapped the small inquisitor. "How can I?" Brockway inquired, with masculine density. "Forgiveness implies an injury, and----"