----“but I won’t,” he continued, “remind you of that, or of anything or any one but Owen.” “Owen?” “Yes; if we could somehow spare him----” She had dropped her hands and turned her startled eyes on him. It seemed to her an age since she had thought of Owen! “You see, don’t you,” Darrow continued, “that if you send me away now----” She interrupted: “Yes, I see----” and there was a long silence between them. At length she said, very low: “I don’t want any one else to suffer as I’m suffering...” “Owen knows I meant to leave tomorrow,” Darrow went on. “Any sudden change of plan may make him think...” Oh, she saw his inevitable logic: the horror of it was on every side of her! It had seemed possible to control her grief and face Darrow calmly while she was upheld by the belief that this was their last hour together, that after he had passed out of the room there would be no fear of seeing him again, no fear that his nearness, his look, his voice, and all the unseen influences that flowed from him, would dissolve her soul to weakness. But her courage failed at the idea of having to conspire with him to shield Owen, of keeping up with him, for Owen’s sake, a feint of union and felicity. To live at Darrow’s side in seeming intimacy and harmony for another twenty-four hours seemed harder than to live without him for all the rest of her days. Her strength failed her, and she threw herself down and buried her sobs in the cushions where she had so often hidden a face aglow with happiness. “Anna----” His voice was close to her. “Let me talk to you quietly. It’s not worthy of either of us to be afraid.” Words of endearment would have offended her; but her heart rose at the call to her courage. “I’ve no defense to make,” he went on. “The facts are miserable enough; but at least I want you to see them as they are. Above all, I want you to know the truth about Miss Viner----” The name sent the blood to Anna’s forehead. She raised her head and faced him. “Why should I know more of her than what she’s told me? I never wish to hear her name again!” “It’s because you feel about her in that way that I ask you--in the name of common charity--to let me give you the facts as they are, and not as you’ve probably imagined them.” “I’ve told you I don’t think uncharitably of her. I don’t want to think of her at all!” “That’s why I tell you you’re afraid.” “Afraid?” “Yes. You’ve always said you wanted, above all, to look at life, at the human problem, as it is, without fear and without hypocrisy; and it’s not always a pleasant thing to look at.” He broke off, and then began again: “Don’t think this a plea for myself! I don’t want to say a word to lessen my offense. I don’t want to talk of myself at all. Even if I did, I probably couldn’t make you understand--I don’t, myself, as I look back. Be just to me--it’s your right; all I ask you is to be generous to Miss Viner...” She stood up trembling. “You’re free to be as generous to her as you please!”