"I could naturally afford to be. It cost me nothing when I was living on another man's bounty."
The woman made a little gesture. "And you gave up everything for me!"
Brooke laughed softly, for it seemed to him that a little candor was advisable. "As a matter of fact, I am not quite sure that I did. My native wrong-headedness may have had its share in influencing me. Anyway, that was all done with—several years ago."
"You will not be bitter, Harford," and she cast him a glance of appeal which might have awakened a trace of tenderness in the man had it sprung from any depth of feeling. "Can anything of that kind ever be quite done with?"
Brooke commenced to feel a trifle uneasy. "Well," he said, reflectively, "I certainly think it ought to be."
To his relief his companion smiled and apparently decided to change the subject. "You never even sent me a message. It really wasn't kind."
"It appeared considerably more becoming to let myself sink into oblivion. Besides, I could scarcely be expected to feel certain that you would care to hear from me."
The woman glanced at him reflectively. "I have often thought about you. Of course, I was dreadfully sorry when I had to give you up, but I really couldn't do anything else, and it was all for the best."
"Of course!" said Brooke, with a trace of dryness, and smiled when she glanced at him sharply. "I naturally mean in your case."
"You are only involving yourself, Harford. You never used to be so unfeeling."