"I must marry a man of the world. I want to live in the world. We’re both undeveloped—I’m not a woman yet, nor you a man." "I don’t consider I’m not a man," said Glen scornfully, "until I have conquered no end of women, and have their broken hearts for trophies, like an Indian with a string of scalps. I love one woman, and if she won’t have me—well, I’ll not give up until I see her tied pretty tightly to another man." "I’m not worth it, Glen." She caught his arm, gazing earnestly up into his face, "I’m not worth all your devotion." "I know you have faults enough, but, God help me, I love you all the better for them." "Everybody loves my faults," said Indiana, impatiently. "That’s the trouble with me. If I could only find some one who would hate them and try to cure them." "I couldn’t be harsh to you, Indy. If you killed me, I’d die blessing you. You nearly did for me once—" "What!" "Oh, it wasn’t your fault—you were too young to know better." Indiana sprang from the hammock. "Glen, what wasn’t my fault?" she demanded, fiercely. "What did I do? You shall tell me!" "All right. But don’t get in a temper. I swore I’d never throw it up to you." "Don’t tease me, Glen," said Indiana, imploringly, "tell me—quickly." Glen pushed his hair back from his right temple. "Do you see that?" "Yes," uttered Indiana, in a frightened voice, "a deep, white scar." "You did that." She recoiled, looking at it in horror. "You threw a pair of scissors at me—in one of your tantrums." "Oh, no, no, no!" "You were too young to remember, and they took you away so that the sight of the blood shouldn’t frighten you." "Oh, Glen!" cried Indiana, "how could I? And you’re always so good—you never even hated me for it. Oh, Glen!" She took his head in her hands and kissed the scar impulsively. "Forgive me—forgive me!" "Indiana, is there a chance for me?" "No." "You’re not going to marry that Englishman?" he said, fiercely. "He hasn’t asked me." "Would you?" "I don’t know, Glen. Promise me you won’t say anything to him about that," pointing to the scar. "I’ve never thought of it myself," said Glen, sadly, "since then. I’m sorry I told you if—" "Thank you for telling me. I’m glad I know. It hurts me, though—right here." She put her hand to her heart. "Indiana!" "Now I’m blue, but I’ll get over it. To think I could hurt you, or anybody, like that." "Oh, Indy, don’t think about it. This scar is healed—long ago. You’ve hurt me here, far worse than that." He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. "There’s a wound here it’ll take many a long day to heal." "Oh, Glen! Oh, Glen!" she moaned, piteously, trying to wrest her hand away. But he held it tightly over his heart.