“Why, the young lady you ran away from. You know very well whom I mean.” “Like her? Why, I hate her.” “Yes, perhaps you do now. But I am asking of former years. How long were you engaged to her?” “Engaged? Let me see, I have been engaged just about—well, not twenty-four hours yet. I was never engaged before. I thought I was, but I wasn’t really.” Miss Earle shook her head. “You must have liked her very much,” she said, “or you never would have proposed marriage to her. You would never have been engaged to her. You never would have felt so badly when she—” “Oh, say it out,” said George, “jilted me, that is the word.” “No, that is not the phrase I wanted to use. She didn’t really jilt you, you know. It was because you didn’t have, or thought you didn’t have, money enough. She would like to be married to you to-day.” George shuddered. “I wish,” he said, “that you wouldn’t mar a perfect day by a horrible suggestion.” “The suggestion would not have been so horrible a month ago.” “My dear girl,” said Morris, rousing himself up, “it’s a subject that I do not care much to talk about, but all young men, or reasonably young men, make mistakes in their lives. That was my mistake. My great luck was that it was discovered in time. As a general thing, affairs in this world are admirably planned, but it does seem to me a great mistake that young people have to choose companions for life at an age when they really haven’t the judgment to choose a house and lot. Now, confess yourself, I am not your first lover, am I?” Miss Earle looked at him for a moment before replying. “You remember,” she said, “that once you spoke of not having to incriminate yourself. You refused to answer a question I asked you on that ground. Now, I think this is a case in which I would be quite justified in refusing to answer. If I told you that you were my first lover, you would perhaps be manlike enough to think that after all you had only taken what nobody else had expressed a desire for. A man does not seem to value anything unless some one else is struggling for it.” “Why, what sage and valuable ideas you have about men, haven’t you, my dear?” “Well, you can’t deny but what there is truth in them.” “I not only can, but I do. On behalf of my fellow men, and on behalf of myself, I deny it.” “Then, on the other hand,” she continued, “if I confessed to you that I did have half a score or half a dozen of lovers, you would perhaps think I had been jilting somebody or had been jilted. So you see, taking it all in, and thinking the matter over, I shall refuse to answer your question.” “Then you will not confess?” “Yes, I shall confess. I have been wanting to confess to you for some little time, and have felt guilty because I did not do so.” “I am prepared to receive the confession,” replied the young man, lazily, “and to grant absolution.”