“How did it occur?”

“I will tell you exactly.  We were walking home, all of us, along Fifth Avenue, that winter afternoon.  The avenue was gay and densely crowded; and I remember the furs I wore and the western sunset crimsoning the cross-streets, and the early dusk—­and Jessie ahead with Cecile and the dogs.  And then he said that now was the time, for he was going back to college that same day, and would not return before Easter—­and he urged it, and hurried me—­and—­I couldn’t think; and I went with him, west, I believe—­yes, the sky was red over the river—­west, two blocks, or more....  There was a parsonage.  It lasted only a few minutes....  We took the elevated to Fifty-ninth Street and hurried east, almost running.  They had just reached the Park and had not yet missed us....  And that is all.”

“All?”

“Yes,” she said, raising her pale face to his.  “What more is there?”

“The—­man.”

“He was as frightened as I,” she said simply, “and he went back to college that same evening.  And when I had become still more frightened and a little saner I wrote asking him if it was really true.  It was.  There seemed to be nothing to do; I had no money, nor had he.  And there was no love—­because I could not endure even his touch or suffer the least sentiment from him when he came back at Easter.  He was a boy and silly.  He annoyed me.  I don’t know why he persisted so; and finally I became thoroughly exasperated....  We did not part on very friendly terms; and I think that was why he did not return to us from college when he graduated.  A man offered him a position, and he went away to try to make a place for himself in the world.  And after he had gone, somehow the very mention of his name began to chill me.  You see nobody knew.  The deception became a shame to me, then a dull horror.  But, little by little, not seeing him, and being young, after a year the unreality of it all grew stronger, and it seemed as though I were awaking from a nightmare, among familiar things once more....  And for a year it has been so, though at night, sometimes, I still lie awake.  But I have been contented—­until—­you came....  Now you know it all.”

“All?”

“Every word.  And now you understand why I cannot care for you, or you for me.”

He said in a deadened voice:  “There is a law that deals with that sort of man—­”

“What are you saying?” she faltered.

“That you cannot remain bound!  Its monstrous.  There is a law—­”

“I cannot disgrace dad!” she said.  “There is no chance that way!  I’d rather die than have him know—­have mother know—­and Jessie and Cecile and Gray!  Didn’t you understand that?”

“You must tell them nevertheless, and they must help you.”

“Help me?”

“To free yourself—­”

Flushed with anger and disdain she drew bridle and faced him.