She had never before called him by that name, and now she did not know what she had called him. "What's all over?" he asked mechanically. "Everything," she said; "your thinking I was going to, perhaps, some time--and all that. Because now I never shall. O, Bobbie, I do hate hurting you, and I do like you so frightfully much! But he's written to me: the letter's been delayed. And it's all a mistake. And I'm going to him now. Oh,--I hope you'll be able to forgive me!" "It's not your fault," he said. "Wait a minute. It's so sudden. Yes, I see. Don't you worry about me, dearest, I shall be all right. May I know who it is?" "It's Mr. Vernon," said Betty. "Oh, my God!" Temple's hand clenched. "No, no, no, no!" "I am so very, very sorry," said Betty in the tone one uses who has trodden on another's foot in an omnibus. He had sat down at one of the little tables, and was looking out over the shining river with eyes half shut. "But it's not true," he said. "It can't be true! He's going to marry Lady St. Craye." "That's all a mistake," said Betty eagerly; "he only said that because--I haven't time to tell you all about it now. But it was all a mistake." "Betty, dear," he said, using in his turn, for the first time, her Christian name, "don't do it. Don't marry him. You don't know." "I thought you were his friend." "So I am," said Temple. "I like him right enough. But what's all the friendship in the world compared with your happiness? Don't marry him--dear. Don't." "I shall marry whom I choose," said Betty, chin in air, "and it won't be you." ("I don't care if I am vulgar and brutal," she told herself, "it serves him right") "It's not for me, dear. It's not for me--it's for you. I'll go right away and never see you again. Marry some straight chap--anyone--But not Vernon." "I am going to marry Mr. Vernon," said Betty with lofty calm, "and I am very sorry for any annoyance I may have caused you. Of course, I see now that I could never--I mean," she added angrily, "I hate people who are false to their friends. Yes--and now I've missed my train." She had. "Forgive me," said Temple when the fact was substantiated, and the gray pony put up, "after all, I was your friend before I--before you--before all this that can't come to anything. Let me give you both some coffee and see you to the station. And Betty, don't you go and be sorry about me afterwards. Because, really, it's not your fault and," he laughed and was silent a moment, "and I'd rather have loved you and have it end like this, dear, than never have known you. I truly would."