“‘Faint heart—­’” Barbara began, and could have bitten out her tongue, since she had so often promised herself that she would never again encourage anybody.

The agony died in Harry West’s eyes, and there came instead a look of great gentleness, compassion, and understanding.

“May I say things to you that are none of my business?” he asked.  She nodded briefly, and he went on:  “You mustn’t say things like that.  You have a race to row, too, but your beautiful eyes are all over the place!”

“I knew I was a rotter,” said Barbara, “but I didn’t know it was obvious to everybody.”

“To eyes,” said West gently, “in a certain condition lots of things are obvious that other people wouldn’t see.  May I still say things?”

“Don’t spare me.”

“You love to attract men.  And if you happen to hurt them, you think you are a rotter.  That isn’t true.  You’re being pulled two ways.  Art pulls you one—­the way you think you want to go—­and nature pulls you the way you really want to go.  Men attract you to a certain extent.  I can almost feel that—­and you tire of them, and think it’s because you haven’t got the capacity for really caring.  That isn’t true either.  You have infinite capacities for caring, but as yet you haven’t been attracted to the man you are really going to care for.”

Barbara looked him straight in the eyes.  “How do you know I haven’t?”

He returned the look, as if doubting what he should say or do.  Then he drew a deep breath to steady himself.

“Perhaps you have.  But I know very well that it is not the man you think, at this moment.  You are in the hunting stage, and you didn’t know it.  Now that you do know—­unless I am greatly mistaken—­I think you will try very hard not to hurt people, not to let them have wild dreams of something doing in the future.”

“But if I really think—­”

“Then be secret until you know.”

“And if everything that is me seems to be going out to a certain man—­”

“Then be secret until it has really gone out to him.”

“I don’t know why I let you talk to me like this.”

“There you go again,” he said, and she bit her lips.  “It is very awful for me,” he said, “to think that I have raised my voice in any criticism or disparagement of you.”

“Oh, it’s all true, and it’s all deserved.”

“But you are like that.  And all at the same time it’s your greatest strength and your greatest weakness, and for the right man, when he comes along, it will be his greatest treasure....  I don’t like to say good-by.  It comes hard.”

“If I said, ‘Don’t say good-by,’ would I be breaking the rules?”

“Yes,” he said, “for I could never be the right man.”

[Illustration:  When Bubbles had trotted off, she dropped into her chair and cried.]

“Not even if—­”

“Not even if—­and you will have forgotten any kindness that you felt for me, while I am still wondering why the city is so empty, that once seemed so full.”