"Oh, don't say that," he pleaded wretchedly. "It's true.... And when you sent me away to school I promised myself I'd try to repay you for the sacrifice you must be making for me; that I'd follow your example as nearly as ever I could; that I'd work hard and try to treat people the way you do--kindly, Nat, and considerately, and bravely and tenderly and honestly----" He dropped into a chair near her and buried his head in his hands. "Don't!" he begged huskily. "Please, Betty, don't!" But she wouldn't stop, little guessing how she was racking his heart in her innocent desire to make him understand how deeply she appreciated all he had done for her. "And, O Nat, it's worked so wonderfully! It's made all the girls at school like me, and it's made me understand and like everybody else better; and now, what's ten thousand times the best of all, you notice an improvement the minute you see me! And I--I never was so happy in all my life." She bent forward and took one of his hands, patting it softly. "Nat, I think you're the very best man in the whole world!" "Don't!" he groaned. "Don't, for Heaven's sake!" "Oh, I know, Nat--I know you don't like me to say this, but I must, just the same, tell you the truth about yourself. It's so splendid to live the life you do. You're all unconscious of it, but I want you to realise it and know that I do, too. You've made everybody love you and..." But confusion silenced her, and she gently replaced his hand. For several moments neither spoke. Then Nat broke the tension with a short, hard laugh. "That's right," he said inscrutably; "that was the idea...." "Nat, what do you mean?" He turned to her. "Betty, does it make you--feel that way toward me?" She coloured divinely. "Why, Nat, of course ... Why, everyone..." "That's why I came here, Betty," he pursued, blind to her embarrassment. "I came here with the idea... of getting married...." He was staring gloomily at the floor and could not see the light that dawned upon the girl's face. Absorbed in the struggle with his conscience he had no least suspicion of how his words were affecting her. He knew only that he must somehow make a confession to her, that to own her regard and gratitude on the terms that then existed between them was utterly intolerable. "You never guessed that, did you?" "No," she breathed brokenly. "No, Nat, I--" "Well, it's the truth and...." He rose and moved away. "But I can't tell you just now--not now...." "No, not now, Nat." Betty, too, got up. "I think I'd better go home and see father--I mustn't forget--" she faltered, half blinded by the mist of the happiness before her eyes. "No--wait." She stopped to find his gaze full upon her; for the first time he comprehended that she had not understood, that, worst of all, she had misunderstood. "I must tell you," he blurted desperately, "I must." Instinctively she moved a step toward him. He hung his head.