"Well," she laughed, "I wasn't exactly pleased to lose my fortune." "Dear," he said desperately, "won't you try to forgive me? It seemed right. How could I sacrifice you to a penniless----" "I'd enough for both--or thought I had," she said obstinately. "Ah, but don't you see----" "I see that you cared more for not being thought mercenary by Stephen than----" "Forgive me!" he pleaded; "take me back." "Oh no"--she tossed her bright head--"Stephen might think me mercenary; I couldn't bear _that_. You see you are richer than I am now. How much did you tell me you made a year by your writing? How can I sacrifice you to a penniless----" "Rosamund, do you mean it?" "I do mean it. And, besides----" "What?" "I don't love you any more." The bright head drooped and turned away. "I have killed your love. I don't wonder. Forgive me for bothering you. Good-bye!" "What are you going to do?" she asked suddenly. "Oh, don't be afraid, nothing desperate. Only work hard and try to forgive you." "Forgive _me_? You have nothing to forgive." "No, nothing--if you had left off loving me? Have you? Is it true?" "Good-bye!" she said. "You are staying at the 'Ship'?" "Yes." "Don't let's part in anger. I shall be on the sea-wall in the morning. Let's part friends, then." In the morning Andrew went into the fresh air. The trees, still gold in calmer homes, stood almost leafless in wild, windy Lymchurch. He stood in the sunlight, and in spite of himself some sort of gladness came to him through the crisp October air. Then the _ping_ of a bicycle bell sounded close behind him, and there was Stephen. They shook hands, and Stephen's eyebrows went up. "Is it all right?" he asked. "I knew you'd come here when I came home last night and found you'd had my letter." "No; it's not all right. She won't have me." "Why?" "Pride or revenge, or something. Don't let's talk about it." "All right. I want some breakfast; we left town by the 7.20. I'm starving." "Who are 'we'?" "Miss Grant and I. I thought Rosamund would be wanting a _chaperon_ or a bridesmaid, or something, so I brought her and her bicycle." "Always thoughtful," said Andrew, with something like a laugh. Presently, strolling along the sea-wall they met the two girls. Rosamund looked radiant. Where was the pale, hollow-eyed darling of last night? The wind that ruffled her brown hair had blown roses into her cheeks. "Do you forgive me?" whispered Stephen when they met. "That depends," she answered. They all walked on together, and presently Stephen and Constance fell behind. Then Rosamund spoke. "You really think I ought to crush my pride, and--and----" Hope laughed in Andrew's face--laughed and fled--for he looked in the face of Miss Rainham, and there was no sign of yielding in it. "Yes," he said almost sullenly. "That is as much as to say that you were wrong." "I--perhaps I was wrong. What does it matter?" "It matters greatly. Suppose I had my money now would you run away from me?"