"I'm not in the least likely to be severe with you," he answered. "But since you feel like that about it, why not leave it alone?" "Because," Julie replied bravely, "it's the saddest thing in all the world that you shouldn't know what I do. I'm convinced you can't know... You'd act differently if you knew." "You are a little mystifying," he said, and looked at her uncertainly. "It sounds rather like a grammatical conundrum to which the key may be found in the tense. I'm not good at riddles. If you want me to understand, you'll have to take the plunge, and not stand shivering on the brink." So Julie took the plunge, but took it after a feminine method, going in by degrees with the instinctive aversion for putting her head under water. "I'm speaking of someone," she said, "I've grown to know and to love... I think she also loves me." "That wouldn't be very difficult," he interposed. "Because," Julie went on, as though there had been no interruption, "she talks to me sometimes of intimate things." He stared at her. "You are not going to repeat her confidence to me, surely?" "Why, no," she answered. "But--I'm trying to explain." "You're doing it very badly," he said; and it occurred to Julie that he was anxious to prevent her explaining more fully. But because this thing mattered to her, mattered tremendously, she persevered. "I'm sorry for that," she said... "I so want you to understand. Please try... And be a little patient with me. Once she spoke to me about you. She didn't say much. But she had your photograph in her room, and when she looked at it the tears were in her eyes. And then--" Julie broke off abruptly and searched about after words. He waited in silence. She had at least succeeded in gaining his attention. But his interest was not of an entirely agreeable order. A heavy frown contracted his brows, and the grey eyes sought the dust of the road in preference to her earnest face. There was that in the quality of the dust that was seemingly absorbing. "She spoke of her wasted youth," the girl went on in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "I wish--oh! how I wish I could give you some idea of the sorrow in her voice,--the longing. She's proud. She tried to hide her emotion. But I know." He turned towards her suddenly, making no pretence of misunderstanding, though she had mentioned no name, to whom she referred. "You've allowed your love of romance to lead you astray," he said curtly. "I am a better judge than you are in this matter." "Ah! now," she cried quickly, "I have angered you, and done harm." "Not so," he returned. "I shall cease to think of what you have told me. You've jumped to a wrong conclusion, that's all. The friend you speak of took away her friendship from me long ago. It was her own doing. She would not thank you for your intercession."