"I do not in the least understand," said Marion, sitting down again. "You, my best friend, tell me in the most serious, not to say mysterious way, that you do not know what friendship means, when you are proving every day that you do. I hate secrets! Very few friendships will bear them. I wish there were none between us." "Ah, so do I!" "Then let there be none," said Marion in a tone that was almost authoritative. "Why should there be? In the dear old times when I was so unhappy and you were so good to me, we had no secrets, at least none that I knew of. Why should we have any now?" "The very reason why there must be one at all is the secret itself. Will you not believe me if I tell you that it would hurt you very much to know it?" "It is hard to believe, and I"--she laughed--"I can confess to a reasonable amount of curiosity on the subject." "Do not be curious," said Brett, very gravely, "please do not be curious. You might find it out and I should never forgive myself." "But if I forgave you--" "That would make no difference. That would not make the smallest difference." "What! Not to you?" Mrs. Darche glanced at him in surprise. "Not to me," answered Brett with decision. "The harm would be done." "Utterly incomprehensible!" exclaimed Marion as though speaking to herself. "I cannot help asking you again," she said turning to Brett again. "Tell me, has it anything to do with my husband?" "Yes it has." "Then tell me! Tell me, for heaven's sake!" By this time she was growing anxious. "Not for the world," said Brett firmly. "You do not know how unkind you are. You do not know--you do not know how much your friendship is to me, and how you are letting this wretched mystery come between us." "I know better, better than you can guess." "And you are keeping it to yourself because you are afraid of hurting me--hurting me!" she repeated bitterly. "As though I were not past hurting, these many months, as though I had not been through most all that a woman can bear and live, and yet I have borne it and have lived. No, I am wrong. I can still be hurt. Two things could hurt me. If by some horrible miracle John came back to life, and if--" She paused and hesitated. "What?" asked Brett, who hardly seemed to be listening to her. "If you allowed anything to break up this friendship of ours. But the one is impossible. John is dead, and I have lived down the shame of his memory, and the other--no, it would be your fault." "It would hurt you much more to know what I am keeping from you than to lose my friendship, or rather your friendship for me," said Brett, shaking his head. "Mine you cannot lose, whatever you do. I am giving you the best proof of it now."