“But I’m willing to wait, dear,” he repeated gently. “And then I’m willing to take just as much as you care to give. I won’t worry you, Molly; I won’t ask you for anything you don’t feel like granting me. You see, I know now that Peter must always come first. I had hoped that you’d forget him; I still hope, dear, that in time you will——” She shook her head, and the man bit his lip. “Well, even if you don’t, Molly,” he went on steadily, “is it fair to yourself to go on when you know it’s hopeless? There can be no doubt now that he’s dead; you know it yourself—you’ve taken off your engagement ring—and is it fair to—you? Don’t worry about me for the moment—but what is the use? Isn’t it better to face facts?” The girl gave a little laugh that was half a sob. “Of course it is, Jimmy. Much better. I always tell myself that in my arguments.” Then she looked at him steadily across the table. “You’d be content, Jimmy—would you?—with friendship at first.” “Yes,” he answered quietly. “I would be content with friendship.” “And you wouldn’t bother me—ah, no! forgive me, I know you wouldn’t. Because, Jimmy, I don’t want there to be any mistake. People think I’ve got over it because I go about; in some ways I have. But I seem to have lost something—some part of me. I don’t think I shall ever be able to _love_ a man again. I like you, Jimmy—like you most frightfully—but I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to love you in the way I loved Peter.” “I know that,” muttered the man. “And I’ll risk it.” “You dear!” said the girl—and her eyes were shining. “That’s where the unfairness comes in. You’re worth the very best—and I can’t promise to give it to you.” “You are the very best, whatever you give me,” answered the man quietly. “I’d sooner have anything from you than everything from another woman. Oh, my dear!” he burst out, “I didn’t mean to worry you to-night—though I knew this damned restaurant would be dangerous—but can’t you say yes? I swear you’ll never regret it, dear—and I—I’ll be quite content to know that you care just a bit.” For a while the girl was silent; then with a faint smile she looked at him across the table. “All right, Jimmy,” she said. “You mean you will, Molly?” he cried, a little breathlessly. And the girl nodded. “Yes, old man,” she answered steadily. “I mean I will.” · · · · · It was two hours later when Molly Daventry went slowly upstairs to her room and shut the door. Jimmy Lethbridge had just gone; she had just kissed him. And the echo of his last whispered words—“My dear! my very dear girl!”—was still sounding in her ears.