“Because I can’t. It’s what I said just now. It wouldn’t be sane. I’ve made a kind of history for myself. If I were to do the same thing again it wouldn’t merely seem cruel, it would seem crazy.” “But if you don’t care for him?” “I do—in a way. He’s been so good and kind and patient and everything! And even if I didn’t care for him at all it would be just the same—after what I’ve let him think—the second time.” I could see her reasoning, if reasoning it was, though it was not the uppermost thought in my mind. As a matter of fact, I was repeating her statement as to “one of the same men.” Which one of them was it? There had been three—the one she didn’t trust—the one she couldn’t have lived with—and the one who was only very nice. It would make such a difference which one it proved to be that I was afraid to ask her. I burst out, desperately: “Oh, but why did you—let him think it—the second time?” “I don’t know. It happened by degrees—by writing—in letters—and I didn’t see how far I was going. It was a kind of reaction.” “Reaction from what?” She looked at me wildly. “From you, I think. As far as I remember it became definite at Taplow.” “When you were actually seeing me every day?” “That was the reason. It was seeing you so cheerful and full of jokes—and not missing—not missing any one—nor ever mentioning them—not to a soul. It just convinced me of what I’d been sure of before—ever since the time at Atlantic City—that you didn’t—that you never had.... And so when he suggested it in one of his letters—I don’t know what made me!—but I didn’t say it was impossible.” “What did you say?” “I said, who knows?—or something like that. And then he cabled—but I didn’t cable back—I only wrote—trying to say no—but not saying it decidedly enough.... And so it’s gone on—he writing and cabling both—and I only writing, but letting him think—just little by little—and not seeing how far I was being swept along.” I wanted to be clear as to the facts. “Then do I understand that you’re engaged to him?” “I told him I wouldn’t be engaged again—that engagements for me had come to be grotesque. I said that if we did it we’d—we’d just go somewhere and be married.” “If you did it? Then it’s possible—” “No; because he’s expecting it. I’ve allowed him to expect it—just little by little, you understand—and not seeing how far I was letting myself in.... And now he’s told some people who used to know about it when I was engaged to him before—and that binds me because it will get about—so that if I were to break it off with him the second time I should be a laughing-stock—and quite rightly.” “Oh, Regina, how could you?”