"Yes, yes indeed."
"Then read your letter."
She looked at him irresolutely a moment, then made a little gesture of protest and snatched up the missive almost vindictively.
After reading a few lines her face softened, and she said, in accents of regret which she was too much off her guard to disguise, "Oh, he never received my answer last summer."
"Of course not," growled Roger. "You deserved that, for you gave your note to that old blunderbuss Jotham, when I would have carried it safely."
"Oh, Roger, I can't go on with this; I am wronging you too shamefully."
"You would wrong me far more if you were not honest with me at this time," he said almost harshly.
His words quieted and chilled her a little, and she replied sadly, "You are right, Roger. You don't want, nor should I mock you with the mere semblance of what you give."
"Read the letter," was his impatient reply, "or I shall go at once."
She now turned to it resolutely, proposing to read it with an impassive face, but, in spite of herself, he saw that every word was like an electric touch upon her heart. As she finished, the letter dropped from her hands, and she began crying so bitterly that he was disarmed, and forgot himself in her behalf. "Don't cry so, Millie," he pleaded. "I can't stand it. Come, now; I fought this battle out once before, and didn't think I could be so accursedly weak again."