“Why do you talk of saying goodbye? Ain’t we going to be good friends all the same?” he urged, without releasing her hand. She drew it away quietly. “What is your idea of being good friends?” she returned with a slight smile. “Making love to me without asking me to marry you?” Rosedale laughed with a recovered sense of ease. “Well, that’s about the size of it, I suppose. I can’t help making love to you—I don’t see how any man could; but I don’t mean to ask you to marry me as long as I can keep out of it.” She continued to smile. “I like your frankness; but I am afraid our friendship can hardly continue on those terms.” She turned away, as though to mark that its final term had in fact been reached, and he followed her for a few steps with a baffled sense of her having after all kept the game in her own hands. “Miss Lily——” he began impulsively; but she walked on without seeming to hear him. He overtook her in a few quick strides, and laid an entreating hand on her arm. “Miss Lily—don’t hurry away like that. You’re beastly hard on a fellow; but if you don’t mind speaking the truth I don’t see why you shouldn’t allow me to do the same.” She had paused a moment with raised brows, drawing away instinctively from his touch, though she made no effort to evade his words. “I was under the impression,” she rejoined, “that you had done so without waiting for my permission.” “Well—why shouldn’t you hear my reasons for doing it, then? We’re neither of us such new hands that a little plain speaking is going to hurt us. I’m all broken up on you: there’s nothing new in that. I’m more in love with you than I was this time last year; but I’ve got to face the fact that the situation is changed.” She continued to confront him with the same air of ironic composure. “You mean to say that I’m not as desirable a match as you thought me?” “Yes; that’s what I do mean,” he answered resolutely. “I won’t go into what’s happened. I don’t believe the stories about you—I don’t WANT to believe them. But they’re there, and my not believing them ain’t going to alter the situation.” She flushed to her temples, but the extremity of her need checked the retort on her lip and she continued to face him composedly. “If they are not true,” she said, “doesn’t THAT alter the situation?” He met this with a steady gaze of his small stock-taking eyes, which made her feel herself no more than some superfine human merchandise. “I believe it does in novels; but I’m certain it don’t in real life. You know that as well as I do: if we’re speaking the truth, let’s speak the whole truth. Last year I was wild to marry you, and you wouldn’t look at me: this year—well, you appear to be willing. Now, what has changed in the interval? Your situation, that’s all. Then you thought you could do better; now——” “You think you can?” broke from her ironically.