"Yes, but you mustn't cry about it," he said gently. "And you mustn't blame yourself either. I knew the fellow, remember; you didn't."
"I didn't know you, either," she said, sitting down on the edge of the fountain. "I—I've been a perfect fool!"
Silence followed this statement. She did not know quite whether she expected Lord Ronald to agree with her or to protest against the severity of her self-arraignment, but she found his silence peculiarly hard to bear.
She had almost begun to resent it, when suddenly, very softly, he spoke:
"It's never too late to mend, is it?"
"I don't know," she answered. "I almost think it is—at my age."
He dipped her handkerchief again in the fountain, and dabbed his face afresh. Then:
"Don't you think you might try?" he suggested, in his speculative drawl.
She shook her head rather drearily.
"I suppose I shall have to resign myself, and get a companion. I shall hate it, and so will the companion, but——"