"Has it occurred to you that my motives are open to the worst construction?" "Well, frankly, it has. But it won't occur to Miss Harden. Go to her and tell her everything." "After all, what am I to tell her?" "Oh, it doesn't matter much what you tell her now." "It matters a great deal to me. I don't want her to think me more dishonourable than I am." "Oh, she won't do that." "Perhaps she can't?" "Well, you see, I don't know how dishonourable you've been. I only know if I'd done a dishonourable thing--if I'd done--oh, the most disgraceful thing I can imagine, a thing I couldn't _possibly_ tell to anybody else, I wouldn't mind telling Lucia Harden. I should _have_ to tell her. It wouldn't matter. She's so perfectly good, that your own little amateur efforts in that line simply aren't in it; so when it comes to telling her things, you may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. And wait a minute; you're not likely to make a lamb of your sheep; but don't go to the other extreme, and make a full-grown sheep of your lamb." "I shall not deceive her." "You couldn't. She's not only a good woman, but a very clever one, though she doesn't let you see it. Mind you, you won't find her clever about stupid things. I doubt if you'll be able to make her understand all this library affair. But she'll understand _your_ business." They rose, and walked together, forgetful of the eagerly observant group. "Could she see me to-day--this evening? I'm going to-morrow." "Yes, I'll tell her you're coming. When you _do_ see her, don't be afraid--speak out." "I'm not afraid of speaking to her--I'm afraid--" "Of what?" "Simply of _seeing_ her." "You mean you are afraid of seeing her changed?" She understood him; for it was what she herself had been afraid of. "Horribly afraid." "My dear Mr. Rickman, people in great trouble don't change to other people. They only change to themselves." He raised his hat and turned from her without speaking.