"No, no!" she cried, in alarm at the fierceness of his expression. "He never treated me badly; he made everything quite clear from the beginning. It was my fault if I misunderstood him. But I never did; I always knew we were just friends, and it was pleasant, and I let it go on. Haven't you and I been friends, too, Ted? There was no harm in that, was there?" "Oh, no," he said, bitterly. "There was no fear of any harm in it!" She realised his meaning, and blushed painfully as she felt that he had spoken the truth. "Ted, do you hate me, I wonder?" she murmured. "What? Oh, that's all right. Don't bother about me. I was a rotten ass ever to expect anything else." "But, I mean, because--because of the other?" she went on anxiously. Ted bit his lip, but did not speak. "Do you think it was wrong of me?" she pleaded. "Ted, tell me! I didn't know; I didn't really. It seemed quite right to me; I couldn't see that it mattered, just because of what people said. Would you think it wrong of a girl to come and see you, if she liked coming, and didn't care what people said?" Ted rose from his seat hurriedly, and picked up his hat. "I never said you were wrong, did I?" he said, gently. "You see, you're clever, and I'm not, and it's altogether different. I was only sorry, that was all; I didn't think you went in for that sort of thing, and I was hit up, rather. But it was my fault entirely; and of course you're right,--you always are. I sha'n't bother you any more, now I know." "Ted, don't go," she said, imploringly, as he touched her hand again and turned towards the door. "Don't you understand, Ted, that--that _he_ only appealed to half of me, and-- I do care, Ted, and I want you to come and see me again; I do really, Ted, I--" But he only smiled as incredulously as before, and spoke again in the same gentle tone. "Thanks, awfully. But don't bother to spoof yourself about me; I shall be all right, really. It was always my fault; I won't bother you any more. Good-bye." And, haunted by his changed manner and his joyless smile, she went back to her seat on the stairs, and sat with her hands clasped over her knees and her eyes staring vacantly into space, as she tried in vain to discover what her real feelings were. "Perhaps I haven't got any," she thought to herself. "Perhaps I am incapable of loving any one, or of feeling anything. And I have sent away the best fellow in the whole world, and it doesn't seem to matter a bit. I wonder if _anything_ could make me cry now?" And she took a gloomy pleasure in conjuring up all the incidents of the last unhappy week, and laughed cynically when she found that none of them had any effect upon her.