"Are you going?"
"Yes; I am tired."
"I suppose I oughtn't to keep you," said Garda, regretfully, "Well,—it's understood, then, that I tell Evert to-morrow."
Margaret, who was going towards the door, stopped. She waited a moment, then she said—"Even if you break the engagement, Garda, it isn't necessary to say anything about Lucian, is it?—this feeling that you think you have for him; I wish you would promise me not to speak of Lucian at all."
"Think I have!" said Garda. "Know is the word. But I'm afraid I can't promise you that, because, don't you see" (here she came to her friend, who was standing with one hand on the door)—"don't you see that I shall have to speak of Lucian?—I shall have to say how much I like him. Because, after what I let Evert think that night on the barrens, nothing less will convince him that I don't care for him any more, that I've got over it. For he believed me then—as well he might! and he has never stopped believing. And he never will stop—he wouldn't know how—until I tell him in so many words that I adore somebody else; perhaps he will stop then; he knew what it was when I adored him."
Margaret looked at her without speaking.
"Dear me! Margaret, don't hate me," said Garda, abandoning her presentation of the case and clinging in distress to her friend.
"Promise me at least not to tell Evert anything about that last afternoon before Lucian left—your plan for meeting him at the pool, your going on towards the house and coming upon me, our seeing Dr. Kirby, and your fear—in short, all that happened. Promise me faithfully."
"I suppose I can promise that, if you care about it. But you mustn't hate me, Margaret."
"What makes you think I hate you?" asked Margaret, forcing a smile.