"Not now. ... Wait! There is so much to be said.--Sit down, Dane. I hope you didn't think me unkind not seeing you yesterday. I couldn't! It has been such a shock. I had to think things out. The money question alters everything. There has not been time to go into business matters, but from all we have heard, from what the letter said, it seems that this loss was the last of a series. Poor Father! he must have suffered horribly, but he said nothing; only speculated more wildly than ever, hoping to put things straight. It's a mercy Mary has her money. She will look after Mother. It's her duty, but I am different. I could never live on Mary." She raised her voice, silencing the words on Danes' tongue. "I have told them that I shall look after myself." "I shan't let you do that! Dear, I have only been waiting till you gave me a chance of speaking. As soon as it can possibly be arranged we must--" But again Teresa's voice interrupted, hastily drowning his own. "Wait, please! You must wait. I'll tell you my plans, but first, there's something I must give you back." To his dismay he saw her draw the diamond circlet from her finger; she held it towards him on an open palm. Her lips twisted in a painful effort at a smile. "You wanted to have it a year ago, and I refused. I must have seemed very bold. I have often wondered since how I could have brought myself to do it. I was thinking of myself, of course. I don't deny it. I could not bear to give you up, and I hated the thought of the gossip, and the sympathy, and the staring eyes. It hurt my pride to think of being jilted, when I'd been so proud... But most of all--_most_ of all, I thought of you! Dane! tell me one thing! It would help me to know... Has it been any help having my letters this year? Did being engaged to me--as much as we were engaged--make things better or worse? Were you one little scrap less lonely because I cared?" Dane had refused to take the ring. It was still lying on Teresa's palm. He stood over her, very pale, very drawn, his eyes gazing unfalteringly into her own. "Teresa, you have saved me! If it had not been for you I should have taken my life. You have been an angel of patience. It has been your sweetness which saved me from despair. I have taken everything from you in my own trouble, and now, when I am cured, when you have cured me, you want me no more! What about those reasons that influenced you last year? Don't they still exist? Have you grown tired of me, Teresa?" She shook her head, refusing to reply. "God knows it would be no wonder if you had; not one girl in a thousand would have had your forbearance. And--those other reasons? Have you outgrown your fear of what people may say?"