She drew a deep breath. A shock of unbelievable relief tingled through her. So that was all! What was it, compared with her fears? She almost said, "Never mind, dear. It was hateful of you, and I wish you hadn't, but I know you're sorry, and I'm sorry; but I forgive you, and we'll forget it, and you'll never do it again." But just in time she remembered that nice girls must not take these things too lightly. What opinion would he form of the purity of her mind, the innocence of her soul, if an incident like this failed to shock her deeply? He himself was evidently a prey to the most rending remorse. He had told her of the thing as one tells of a crime. As the confession of a crime she must receive it. How should she know that he had only told her because he feared that she would anyhow hear it through the indiscretion of the girl in pink, or of that other girl in blue who had seen and smiled? How could she guess that he had tuned his confession to the key of what he believed would be an innocent girl's estimate of his misconduct? Following the tingle of relief came a sharp, sickening pinch of jealousy and mortification. These inspired her. "I don't wonder you were afraid to tell me," she began. "You don't love me--you've never loved me--I was an idiot to believe you did." "You know I do," he said; "it was hateful of me--but I couldn't help it." Those four true words wounded her more than all the rest. "Couldn't help it? Then how can I ever trust you? Even if we were married I could never be sure you weren't kissing some horrid girl or other. No--it's no use--I can never, never forgive you--and it's all over. And I _believed_ in you so, and trusted you--I thought you were the soul of honour." He could not say, "And so I am, on the whole," which was what he thought. Her tears were falling hot and fast between face and veil, for she had talked till she was very sorry indeed for herself. "Forgive me, dear," he said. Then she rose to the occasion. "Never," she said, her eyes flashing through her tears. "You've deceived me once--you'd do it again! No, it's all over--you've broken my heart and destroyed my faith in human nature. I hope I shall never see you again. Some day you'll understand what you've done, and be sorry!" "Do you think I'm not sorry now?" She wished that they were at home, and not in this horrible tea-shop, under the curious eyes of the waitresses. At home she could at least have buried her face in the sofa cushions and resisted all his pleading,--at last, perhaps, letting him take one cold passive hand and shower frantic kisses upon it. He would come to-morrow, however, and then-- At present the thing to compass was a dignified parting.