"No," she replied, and the lie came "like truth"--so like truth that Drake felt ashamed of his suspicion of her motive. She had not, then, heard of his uncle's offer? Then--then why was she moved at sight of him? Why were her eyes moist with unshed tears, the pressure of her hand on his arm tremulous and beseeching? "No," she said; "I--I have been scarcely anywhere. I have--not been well. I came down here to the Chesneys' to bury myself--just to bury myself. I have been so wretched, so miserable, Drake." "I'm sorry," he said gravely. "But why?" She looked up at him reproachfully. "Don't you--know? Ah, Drake, can't you guess? Don't--don't look at me like that and smile. It is not like you to be so--so hard." "We men are hard or soft as you women make us, Luce," he said quietly. "Remember that I have been through the mill. I was not hard or cruel--once." It was an unwise thing to say. Never, if you have done with a woman, or she has done with you, talk sentiment, says Rousseau. It was unwise, for it let Luce in. "I know! Yes, it was all my fault. Drake, do you think I don't know that? Do you think that I don't tell myself so every hour of the day, every hour at night, when I lay awake thinking of--of the past?" "The past is buried, Luce," he said, with a short laugh. "Don't let us dig it up again. After all, you acted wisely----" "No; I acted like a fool!" she broke in; and she meant it. "If I had only listened to the cry of my own heart--if I had only refused to obey father, and--and stuck to you! But, Drake, though you think me heartless, and--and sneer----" "I didn't mean to sneer, Luce," he said. "Forgive me if I did so unintentionally. I quite understood your difficulty, and, as I told you the day we parted, I--well, I made allowances for you. You did what most women of our set would have done." "Would they? But perhaps they really are heartless, while I----Drake, you can't tell what I have suffered; how--how terribly I have missed you! I--yes, I will tell you the truth. Do you know, Drake, that I had made a vow that whenever we met, whether it was soon, or not for years, I would tell you all. Yes--though, like a man, you should despise me for it!" "I'm not likely to despise you for it, Luce," he said. As he spoke, Lady Chesney came out onto the terrace. She looked up and down, saw the two figures standing together, and, with a smile, returned to the house. "No; you are too generous for that, Drake; even if I--I confess that I have not spent one happy--oh, the word is a mockery!--that I have been wretched since the hour I--I left you." His face grew grave, almost stern. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "Candidly, I didn't think----"