'You were quite right, my darling. Do not look so miserable. Max would only honour you the more for your truthfulness.' 'Yes, but he knew me better than I knew myself,' she whispered. 'When he begged to speak to me again I wanted to refuse, but he would not let me. He asked me--and there were tears in his eyes--not to be so hard on him, to let him judge for us both in this one thing. He pressed me so, and he looked so unhappy, that I gave way at last, and said that in a year's time he might speak again. I remember telling him, as he thanked me very gratefully, that I should not consider him bound in any way; that I had so little hope to give him that I had no right to hold him to anything; if he did not come to me when a year had expired, I should know that he had changed. There was a gleam in his eyes as I said this that made me feel for the first time the strength and purpose of a man's will. I grew timid and embarrassed all at once, and a strange feeling came over me. Was I, after all, so certain that I should never love him? I could only breathe freely when he left me.' 'Yes, dear, I understand,' I returned soothingly, for she had covered her face with her hands, as though overpowered with some recollection. 'Ursula,' she whispered, 'he was right. I had never thought of such things. I did not know my own feelings. Before three months were over, I knew I could give him the answer he wanted. I regretted the year's delay; but for shame, I would have made him understand how it was with me.' 'Could you not have given a sign that your feelings were altered, Gladys? it would have been generous and kind of you to have ended his suspense.' 'I tried, but it was not easy; but he must have noticed the change in me. If I were shy and embarrassed with him it was because I cared for him so much. It used to make me happy only to see him; if he did not speak to me, I was quite content to know he was in the room. I used to treasure up his looks and words and hoard them in my memory; it did not seem to me that any other man could compare with him. You have often laughed at my hero-worship, but I made a hero of him.' I was so glad to hear her say this of my dear Max that tears of joy came to my eyes, but I would not interrupt her by a word: she should tell her story in her own way. 'Etta had spoken to me long before this. One day when we were sitting over our work together, and I was thinking happily about Max--Mr. Cunliffe, I mean.' 'Oh, call him Max to me,' I burst out, but she drew herself up with gentle dignity.