“Some day you’ll thank me,” she said.

“Very possibly,” I returned.  “Nobody knows what may not happen.  It’s conceivable, of course, I might go down on my bended knees, but really, from the way I feel at this moment, I do not think it’s likely.”

“You want to punish me for liking you,” she said.

“Teresa,” I said, “I have told you already that you are right.  You insist on saving me from a humiliating position.  I respect your courage and your straightforwardness.  You remind me of an ancient Spartan having it out with a silly ass of a stranger who took advantage of her parents’ good-nature.  I am as little vain, I think, as any man, and as free from pettiness and idiotic pride—­ but you mustn’t ask the impossible.  You mustn’t expect the whipped dog to come back.  When I go it will be for ever.”

“Then go,” she said, and looked me straight in the eyes.

“I have only one thing to ask,” I said.  “Smooth it over to your father and mother.  I am very fond of your father and mother, Teresa; I don’t want them to think I’ve acted badly, or that I have ceased to care for them.  Tell them the necessary lies, you know.”

“I will tell them,” she said.

“Then good-bye,” I said, rising.  “I suppose I am acting like a baby to feel so sore.  But I am hurt.”

“Good-bye, Hugo,” she said.

I went to the door and down the stairs.  She followed and stood looking after me the length of the hall as I slowly put on my hat and coat.  That was the last I saw of her, in the shadow of a palm, her girlish figure outlined against the black behind.  I walked into the street with a heart like lead, and for the first time in my life I began to feel I was growing old.

I have been from my youth up an easy-going man, a drifter, a dawdler, always willing to put off work for play.  But for once I pulled myself together, looked things in the face, and put my back to the wheel.  I was determined to repay that nine hundred dollars, if I had to cut every dinner-party for the rest of the season.  I was determined to repay it, if I had to work as I had never worked before.  My first move was to change my address.  I didn’t want Uncle Gingersnaps ferreting me out, and Mrs. Grossensteck weeping on my shoulder.  My next was to cancel my whole engagement book.  My third, to turn over my wares and to rack my head for new ideas.

I had had a long-standing order from Granger’s Weekly for a novelette.  I had always hated novelettes, as one had to wait so long for one’s money and then get so little; but in the humour I then found myself I plunged into the fray, if not with enthusiasm, at least with a dogged perseverance that was almost as good.  Granger’s Weekly liked triviality and dialogue, a lot of fuss about nothing and a happy ending.  I gave it to them in a heaping measure.  Dixie’s Monthly, from which I had a short-story order, set dialect above rubies.  I didn’t know any dialect, but I borrowed a year’s file