“Have you any kittens at Wyanoke, Dick?” she asked. “Yes, Miss Mony, lots uv ’em.” “Will you pick out a nice soft one, Dick, and bring it to me at Branton? Every old maid keeps a cat, you know, Dick, and so I want one.” All that was chivalric in Dick’s soul responded. “I’ll put a Voodoo[A] on anybody I ever heahs a callin’ you a ole maid, Miss Mony, but I’ll git you de cat.” As she sank back among the cushions the girl relaxed the rein she had so tightly held upon herself, and the tears slipped softly and silently from her eyes. For the first time in her life this brave woman was sorry for herself. XVIII ALONE IN THE CARRIAGE _A_fter the blind and blundering fashion of a man, Arthur Brent was utterly unconscious of the blow he had dealt to this woman who had given him the only love of her life. For other men she had felt friendship, and to a few she had willingly given that affection which serves as a practical substitute for love in nine marriages out of ten, and which women themselves so often mistake for love. But to this woman love in its divinest form had come, the love that endureth all things and surpasseth all things, the love that knows no ceasing while life lasts, the love that makes itself a willing sacrifice. Until that day she had not herself known the state of her own soul. She had not understood how completely this man had become master of her life, how utterly she had given herself to him. And in the very moment that revealed the truth to her the man she loved had, with unmeant cruelty, opened her eyes also to that other truth that her love for him was futile and must ever remain hopeless. She bade her driver go slowly, that she might think the matter out alone, and she thought it out. She was too proud a woman to pity herself for long. She knew and felt that Arthur had never dreamed of the change which had so unconsciously come upon her. She knew that had he so much as entertained a hope of her love a little while ago, he would have bent all the energies of his soul to the winning of her. She knew in brief that this man to whom she had unconsciously given the one love of her life, would have loved her in like manner, if she had permitted that. She knew too that it was now too late. As the carriage slowly toiled along the sandy road, she meditated, sometimes even uttering her thought in low tones. “There is no fault in him,” she reflected. “It is not that he is blind, but that I have hoodwinked him. In deceiving myself, I have deceived him.” Then came the pleasanter thought: