Gill’s manner was so friendly and had in it such a new atmosphere of shyness, almost of apology, that Allan Drain, although not anxious to have his reverie interrupted, did not like to decline. “Perhaps it would be pleasanter to talk; I can read at any time, as I am so much alone.” Declining a chair, Gill dropped down on the floor before the fire. “Will you talk to me? I should like it ever so much better. There is something I want specially to say to you—I want to apologize for my bad manners ever since our original meeting. You see, you said something then which annoyed me and afterwards impulsively I did something for which I never have forgiven myself, so ever since I have in a way wished to believe you responsible. I thought you had no courage, because you are not the kind of man——” Hesitating, Gill flushed hotly. How hopelessly stupid and awkward she was! Actually she was about to say the very thing she intended not! “Because I am not the kind of fellow you admire. Go on, Miss Gilchrist. You don’t suppose I have any illusions on the subject, do you?” “Well, yes—no,” Gill answered. “Only to-day I discovered that you possessed both courage and presence of mind, the very traits of character I _do_ admire. Besides, at this moment I appreciate you are in lots of pain, your face shows it, and yet you would rather not have me mention the fact. [Illustration: “I Wish You Would Help Me About Something,” She Said.] “I wish you would help me about something,” she went on. “The truth is, I seem to possess no moral courage, and somehow I feel that you do. I have been guilty of a fault that I am ashamed and afraid to confess. It has troubled me for weeks and I have been a good deal more unhappy than any one has realized. I really have wronged you more than any one else, and this morning while Peggy Webster was being married I decided I must confess to some one and that perhaps I had best confess directly to you.” “But I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,” Allan Drain protested. “No, of course not,” Gill answered. She had thrown back her head so that her face was slightly upturned. The light was on her red-brown hair, leaving her face in shadow. Yet Allan Drain observed that the gallant half boyish expression which she ordinarily wore had vanished and that her square, too determined chin was trembling. “Let me tell you quickly and please don’t interrupt, else I might not be able to go on. I have done you the greatest injustice, and not only you, but Mrs. Graham and Bettina, whom I like so much and whose good opinion I would give a great deal to possess. “You remember when you brought your collection of verses here for Mrs. Graham to read and she told you afterwards that she had placed them upon a table in her bed-room, and then, after being away for a few hours, on her return discovered they had vanished?” “I am not likely to forget.”