“Yes.”

“What was the matter then?  Was it—­” He stopped—­his eagerness had led him onto dangerous, if not discourteous, grounds.  “No, you needn’t answer—­forgive me for asking—­I had no right.  I am not myself, Kate—­I didn’t mean to—­”

“Yes, I’ll tell you.  I told Uncle George.  I didn’t like him well enough—­that’s all.”  All this time she was looking him calmly in the face.  If she had done anything to be ashamed of she did not intend to conceal it from her former lover.

“And will Uncle George take his place now that he’s gone?  Do you ever know your own heart, Kate?” There was no bitterness in his question.  Her frankness had disarmed him of that.  It was more in the nature of an inquiry, as if he was probing for something on which he could build a hope.

For a brief instant she made no answer; then she said slowly and with a certain positiveness: 

“If I had I would have saved myself and you a great deal of misery.”

“And Langdon Willits?”

“No, he cannot complain—­he does not—­I promised him nothing.  But I have been so beaten about, and I have tried so hard to do right; and it has all crumbled to pieces.  As for you and me, Harry, let us both forget that we have ever had any differences.  I can’t bear to think that whenever you come home we must avoid each other.  We were friends once—­let us be friends again.  It was very kind of you to come.  I’m glad you didn’t wait.  Don’t be bitter in your heart toward me.”

Harry left his chair and settled down on the sofa beside her, and in pleading, tender tones said: 

“Kate—­When was I ever bitter toward you in my heart?  Look at me!  Do you realize how I love you?—­Do you know it sets me half crazy to hear you talk like that?  I haven’t come here to-day to reproach you—­I have come to do what I can to help you, if you want my help.  I told you the last time we talked in the park that I wouldn’t stay in Kennedy Square a day longer even if you begged me to.  That is over now; I’ll do now anything you wish me to do; I’ll go or I’ll stay.  I love you too much to do anything else.”

“No, you don’t love me!—­you can’t love me!  I wouldn’t let you love me after all the misery I have caused you!  I didn’t know how much until I began to suffer myself and saw Mr. Willits suffer.  I am not worthy of any man’s love.  I will never trust myself again—­I can only try to be to the men about me as Uncle George is to everyone.  Oh, Harry!—­ Harry!—­Why was I born this way—­headstrong wilful—­never satisfied?  Why am I different from the other women?”

He tried to take her hand, but she drew it away.

“No!—­not that!—­not that!  Let us be just as we were when—­Just as we used to be.  Sit over there where I can see you better and watch your face as you talk.  Tell me all you have done—­what you have seen and what sort of places you have been in.  We heard from you through—­”