“O Rita, Rita!—­then you haven’t ever even had the happiness of loving?  Have you?”

Rita did not answer.

“Have you, darling?”

Then Rita broke down and laid her head on Valerie’s knees, crying as though her heart would break.

“That’s the terrible part of it,” she sobbed—­“I really do love a man, now....  Not that first one ... and there’s nothing to do about it—­nothing, Valerie, nothing—­because even if he asked me to marry him I can’t, now—­”

“Because you—­”

“Yes.”

“And if you had not—­”

“God knows what I would do,” sobbed Rita, “I love him so, Valerie—­I love him so!”

The younger girl looked down at the blond head lying on her knees—­looked at the pretty tear-stained face gleaming through the fingers—­looked and wondered over the philosophy broken down beside the bowed head and breaking heart.

Terrible her plight; with or without benefit of clergy she dared not give herself.  Love was no happiness to her, no confidence, no sacrifice—­only a dreadful mockery—­a thing that fettered, paralysed, terrified.

“Does he love you?” whispered Valerie.

“No—­I think not.”

“If he did he would forgive.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course.  Love pardons everything,” said the girl in surprise.

“Yes.  But never forgets.”

* * * * *

That was the first confidence that ever had passed between Valerie West and Rita Tevis.  And after it, Rita, apparently forgetting her own philosophical collapse, never ceased to urge upon Valerie the wisdom, the absolute necessity of self-preservation in considering her future relations with Louis Neville.  But, like Neville’s logic, Rita’s failed before the innocent simplicity of the creed which Valerie had embraced.  Valerie was willing that their relations should remain indefinitely as they were if the little gods of convention were to be considered; she had the courage to sever all relations with the man she loved if anybody could convince her that it was better for Neville.  Marry him she would not, because she believed it meant inevitable unhappiness for him.  But she was not afraid to lay her ringless hands in his for ever.

Querida called on them and was very agreeable and lively and fascinating; and when he went away Valerie asked him to come again.  He did; and again after that.  She and Rita dined with him once or twice; and things gradually slipped back to their old footing; and Querida remained on his best behaviour.

Neville had prolonged the visit to the parental roof.  He did not explain to her why, but the reason was that he had made up his mind to tell his parents that he wished to marry and to find out once and for all what their attitudes would be toward such a girl as Valerie West.  But he had not yet found courage to do it, and he was lingering on, trying to find it and the proper moment to employ it.