"Sure thing!" he said with great animation; "I'll go to the hospital as many times a day as I am allowed, and I'll bring you back a full account of Stuyve's progress after every visit.... May I, Sylvie?" She said nothing. He sat looking at her. He had no great amount of intellect, but he possessed an undue proportion of heart under the somewhat striking waistcoats which at all times characterised his attire. "I'm terribly sorry for you," he said, his eyes very wide and round. She gazed into space, past him. "Do you--would you prefer to have me go?" he stammered. There was no reply. "Because," he said miserably, "I take it that you haven't much use for me." No word from her. "Sylvie?" Silence; but she looked up at him. "I haven't changed," he said, and the healthy colour turned him pink. "I--just--wanted you to know. I thought perhaps you might like to know----" "Why?" Her voice was utterly unlike her own. "Why?" he repeated, getting redder. "I don't know--I only thought you might--it might--amuse you--to know that I haven't changed----" "As others have? Is that what you mean, Bunny?" "No, no, I didn't think--I didn't mean----" "Yes, you did. Why not say it to me? You mean that you, and others, have heard rumours. You mean that you, unlike others, are trying to make me understand that you are still loyal to me. Is that it?" "Y-yes. Good Lord! Loyal! Why, of course I am. Why, you didn't suppose I'd be anything else, did you?" She opened her pallid lips to speak and could not. "Loyal!" he repeated indignantly. "There's no merit in that when a man's been in love with a girl all his life and didn't know it until she'd got good and tired of him! You know I'm for you every time, Sylvia; what's the game in pretending you didn't know it?" "No game.... I didn't--know it." "Well, you do now, don't you?" Her face was colourless as marble. She said, looking at him: "Suppose the rumour is true?" His face flamed: "You don't know what you are saying!" he retorted, horrified. "Suppose it is true?" "Sylvia--for Heaven's sake----" "Suppose it _is_ true," she repeated in a dead, even voice; "how loyal would you remain to me then?" "As loyal as I am now!" he answered angrily, "if you insist on my answering such a silly question----" "Is that your answer?" "Certainly. But----" "Are you _sure_?" He glared at her; something struck coldly through him, checking breath and pulse, then releasing both till the heavy beating of his heart made speech impossible. "I thought you were not sure," she said. "I _am_ sure!" he broke out. "Good God, Sylvia, what are you doing to me?" "Destroying your faith in me." "You can't! I love you!" She gave a little gasp: "The rumour _is_ true," she said. He reeled to his feet; she sat looking up at him, white, silent hands twisted on her lap. "Now you know," she managed to say. "Why don't you go? If you've any self-respect, you'll go. I've told you what I am; do you want me to speak more plainly?"