We were so near the fundamentals that again I felt I ought to give him nothing but the facts. "I suppose Mrs. Rossiter meant that sometimes I should have been glad of a little more sympathy, and always of more--courtesy." I added: "From you, sir, I shouldn't have asked for more than courtesy." Though only his profile was toward me and the hall was dim, I could see that his face was twitching. "And--and didn't you get it?" "Do you think I did?" "I never thought anything about it." "Exactly; but any one in my position does. Even if we could do without courtesy between equals--and I don't think we can--from the higher to the lower--from you to me, for instance--it's indispensable. I don't remember that I ever complained of it, however. Mrs. Rossiter must have seen it for herself." "I didn't want you to marry Hugh," he began, again, after a long pause; "but I'd given in about it. I shouldn't have minded it so much if--if my wife--" He broke off with a distressful, choking sound in the throat, and a twisting of the head, as if he couldn't get his breath. That passed and he began once more. "I've had great trials. . . . My wife! . . . And then the burden of this war. . . . They think--they think I don't care anything about it but--but just to make money. . . . I've always been misjudged. . . . They've put me down as hard and proud, when--" "I could have liked you, sir," I interrupted, boldly. "I told you so once, and it offended you. But I've never been able to help it. I've always felt that there was something big and fine in you--if you'd only set it free." His reply to this was to turn away from his contemplation of the fish and say: "Why don't you come back?" I was sure it was best to be firm. "Because I can't, sir. The episode is--is over. I'm sorry, and yet I'm glad. What I'm doing is right. I suppose everything has been right--even what happened between me and Hugh. I don't think it will do him any harm--Cissie Boscobel is there--and it's done me good. It's been a wonderful experience; but it's over. It would be a mistake for me to go back now--a mistake for all of us. Please let me go, sir; and just remember of me that I'm--I'm--grateful." He regarded me quietly and--if I may say so--curiously. There was something in his look, something broken, something defeated, something, at long last, kind, that made me want to cry. I was crying inwardly when he turned about, without another word, and walked toward the door. It must have been the impulse to say a silent good-by to him that sent me slowly down the hall, though I was scarcely aware of moving. He had gone out into the dark and I was under the Oriental lamp, when he suddenly reappeared, coming in my direction rapidly. I would have leaped back if I hadn't refused to show fear. As it was, I stood still. I was only conscious of an overwhelming pity, terror, and amazement as he seized me and kissed me hotly on the brow. Then he was gone.