He thought: 'How could she ask me? They wouldn't like it, her friends. Mary Ames mightn't want to come. Martha Caldwell, even. She's been nice to me. I mustn't make it hard for her. And she mustn't know about tonight. Not ever.' Then a new thought brought pain. If there had been one such scene, there would be others. And she would have to live against that background, keeping up a brave face before the prying world of Sunbury. Perhaps she had already lived through something of the sort. That sad look about her mouth; when she didn't know you were looking. They had reached the boulevard now, and were standing at the railing over the beach. A little talk had been going on, of course, about this and that--he hardly knew what. He clenched his fist again, and brought it down on the iron rail. 'Oh,' he broke out--'about Saturday. I forgot. I can't come.' 'Oh, but please----' 'No. Awfully busy. You've no idea. You see Humphrey Weaver and I bought the _Gleaner_. I told you, didn't I? It's a big responsibility--getting the pay-roll every week, and things like that. Things I never knew about before. I don't believe I was made to be a business man. Lots of accounts and things. Hump's at it all the time--nights and everything. You see we've got to make the paper pay. We've _got_ to! It was losing, when Bob McGibbon had it. People hated him, and they wouldn't advertise. And now we have to get the advertising back.' If we fail in that, we'll go under, just as he did...' Words! Words! A hot torrent of them! He didn't know how transparent he was. She stood, her two hands resting lightly on the rail, looking out at the slowly spreading glow in the east. 'I'm so glad aunt asked you,' she said gravely. 'I wanted you to come. I want you to know. Won't you, please?' He looked at her, but she didn't turn. There was more behind her words. Even Henry could see that. He had been discussed. As a problem. But she didn't say the rest of it. Then his clumsy little artifice broke down, and the crude feeling rushed to the surface. 'You know I mustn't come!' he cried. 'No,' said she, with that deliberate gravity. 'I don't know that. I think you should.' 'I can't. You don't understand. They wouldn't like it, my being there. They talk about me. They don't speak to me, even.' 'Then oughtn't you to come? Face them? Show them that it isn't true?' 'But that will just make it hard for you.' She was slow in answering this; seemed to be considering it. Finally she replied with:--