Her funny little ways! He was fighting against them. They urged him that they were in themselves just what attracted him--always to have them to turn to in his moodiness. Ah, not to deceive her! He said heavily: "I don't mean that, Essie. Suppose--suppose I made you more miserable than that? Suppose I told you something that made you think I couldn't be fond of you?" She asked him quickly: "What, been engaged before, have you?" "I've been lots of things. I'm going to tell you." He felt her stiffen. "I only want to hear this one. Why didn't you marry her?" "I think because she wouldn't marry me." "Oh, dear!" cried Essie, and wriggled. "Isn't this awful! Oh, don't I hate her, though! Whyever wouldn't she?" Here was a way to tell her. What if it meant to lose her? Here was the opportunity. Let him hold to his vow! He said deeply: "Essie, because she knew me too well. She knew some of what you've got to know, Essie. She'd tell you." "Like her to try!" said Essie and sat up with a jerk. He could face her now. There she was, his jolly little Essie, looking so fierce, breathing so quickly. Tell her and lose her? Clasp her and kiss away that angry little frown? Not to deceive her! Hold, hold to that! He began: "She'd tell you--what I've got to tell you. She'd tell you--listen to me, Essie. What would you do if she told you I'd make you--or anybody--unhappy? That I'm all--all wrong, all moods, all utterly impossible? Essie, that I can't love anybody really--not even you? That I'm not to be trusted? That I can't trust myself? That I'd marry and then--then pretty well go mad to think I was married and do anything to get out of it? That all I want, that what I want, Essie, is--is not exactly to marry? Essie, do you understand? That so long as I felt free, perhaps--perhaps--I'd be all right--perhaps be kind?" He stopped. She was sitting bolt upright, staring straight before her into the night, her pretty lips compressed, and he could hear her breathing--short and quick and sharp. He said: "Essie, what would you do--what would you do if she told you that?" She turned sharply towards him. "Do?" cried Essie. He could see how she quivered. "I tell you what I'd do! I'd take my hand and I'd give her such a slap in the face as she wouldn't forget in a hurry, I know!" He laughed despite himself. But he cried: "If it was true, Essie? If it was true?" "Give her another!" said Essie. "Such a one!" Her funny little ways! He gave an exclamation and caught her to him. She was rigid in her indignant heat. He clasped her and turned her face to his. "Oo-oo!" cried Essie, "Oo-oo!" and relaxed, and snuggled, and put her mouth to his. He laughed freely--bitterly--recklessly. How treat her as others than her class should be treated? Why treat her so? He cried: "Essie, you're impossible!" and squeezed her in reproof of her and in helpless desire of her, and cried: "Essie! Essie! Essie!"