“God knows!” he said gloomily. And then, brightening, he added: “But we have her with us for always, Winifred, and we who love her can try to make her forget it.” “Ah, can we, my dear Kent?” she said, putting her work and both hands in her lap and looking at him. “You love her, but you can't love her as I do. Oh, no, no,” she added as he smiled and shook his head. “You may think you do, but it is not possible. You have found faults in Clytie and scolded her--oh, very kindly and sympathetically, I know, but still in your eyes Clytie can do wrong. In mine she can't--and there is the difference. Clytie is not like other girls. She is like no one in the world. Everything must give way to her. If Clytie were to do something you would think _dreadful_--commit a murder--I feel that she would be justified in doing it, and I should love her all the more tenderly and dearly.” “God bless your loving little heart!” cried Kent. “Love like yours could make the most miserable creature on earth happy.” “Ah, no, Kent. What could I do for her? Listen: I was a poor, friendless, ignorant, uninteresting little girl when I first met Clytie. And she was kind to me. She seemed so brave and strong and clever and beautiful, I quite shrank from her. I felt so small and humble beside her. And she singled me out from among all the rest of the girls at the Slade School, and made me her friend. I never could tell what she found in me.” “She can tell, and I can, too,” exclaimed Kent with abrupt enthusiasm--“the purest, tenderest flower of a soul that ever breathed!” “Oh, Kent!” said Winifred as the colour rose to her dark cheeks. “You must not say things like that. Clytie has done everything for me, everything--and I----” “You have helped Clytie as no one else could have done,” said Kent, “and you are doing it now.” “Am I?” “Yes; don't you see how bright and happy you have made her?” “She is brighter than I should have thought,” said Winifred musingly. “But will it last?” “We must try to make it lasting, you and I,” said Kent softly. He pondered for a moment over the love in each of their hearts, the girl's and the man's. How exquisitely pure and selfless hers seemed to be! He could not realise it in all its beauty, but his perceptions had been refined enough for him to be profoundly touched. “You have taught me something, Winifred,” he said after a pause, during which she had quietly resumed her sewing. “I am happier than I have been all day.” Clytie returned soon afterwards. She looked curiously at the faces of her two friends, and then, divining, perhaps, something of what had passed between them, went up to Winifred and kissed her. After this they talked more freely--of old habits, plans for the future. The latter were vague, for Winifred's marriage with Treherne was fixed for the early part of the next year, and the studio without Winifred was unrealisable. Still the plans were food for much intimate gossip, which some may liken to the very salt of life.