“You know, Joe, that when I left you it was because I felt that we had made a mistake, and that we could never be happy together. I was honest about it; I felt that it would be a great sin for us to go on living together when I found I didn’t care. I was young and so were you and we had never thought about life seriously. You were the nicest, manliest boy in our town, and you thought I was the nicest girl, so we ran off and got married. It wasn’t necessary to run away, but it seemed romantic and it was childish, like all the rest of it.” “We were kids, all right,” murmured Joe. “But when it was done and we were married I saw how serious it was and I saw the mistake, too. Just to live on with you, and to work for you while you were working for me and to go on that way till we died--I saw right away, Joe, that wouldn’t do. And there was the fear of children coming--you know what the children of the poor in mining towns are like, and the thought of that was a terror to me, Joe. I don’t think you ever understood how I felt about that. And more than anything else I realized that I wanted to go on with my work--that it meant more to me than you did, Joe. I’m speaking of these things because it’s only square to myself that I should go over them for a minute. You were as kind as could be; you cared--cared as I did not and could not.” “Oh, I know that, Jean--I know it. But let’s not talk about it--it’s no use talking about it.” “We must talk of it--or I must, and I want to do it now. You never did one thing that was not right. You were a good, clean, honest boy and you would never have done anything to hurt me. It was I who hurt you. You were generous and kind and I was selfish and hard. I saw only my own happiness and the chance of doing something in the world for myself. And I put you away from me as though you had done me some great wrong--or as though you had been a bit of ribbon I didn’t want any more. A woman has no right to treat a man that way when he has never harmed her or done any dishonourable thing--when he is kind and gentle as you were. It seems a long time ago that it all happened, and I supposed you didn’t care any more. But after I came here and began seeing you again I saw that you had not forgotten and that it hurt you deeply. I suppose I never felt quite right about it. It felt like a fraud on people who thought I had never been married, but I told the friends I made here--Mrs. Blair and Mr. Paddock. I suppose that in my heart I knew all the time that I had done wrong. I had set myself up as better than you were, and I had broken my oath to you; the law could never make that right, but I never understood it until that evening I came here first and saw you sick, and other people taking care of you.” The old ache had come into his heart. It had never hurt him so much as now and in his weakness the tears stole down his cheeks, but he shook his head wearily on the pillow.