"My poor boy," she said, softly, and drew him down beside her on a couch.
For a moment the words he had come prepared to say deserted him. He could not speak. He found sincere compassion in her eyes—sympathy and something else which he did not fathom.
"I can do at least one decent thing to-day," he burst out. "I can come to you man-fashion and ask you to release me from our engagement of this evening. I know, of course, you wouldn't go to the ball with me after what has happened. But there's a deeper reason. I am going to tell it to you. Don't misunderstand me. I don't know the right words to use. Any way I put it may sound as though I were a cad. But understand me, Madeleine—as my friend, understand me—for God's sake, do! You have been wise. You have counselled me. I need a friend now!" His voice broke, and she waited. "I've come to my senses. Oh, it's no discredit to you that I thought I loved you. I thought so."
"Your love would honor any woman, Harlan."
He looked at her piteously. He understood how his confession would sound. Only his resolve to be honest with her availed to drive him to the confession he intended to make.
"I couldn't say it to some girls," he cried. "They would not see how it was. But I can only tell you the truth!"
"Wait a moment," she said, interrupting. "You are not just yourself. Let me talk to you. Only a little while ago a girl came to me."
He started up, but she restrained him.
"Listen! She had heard. There were plenty to tell her when she asked. We have given occasion for gossip. Gossip has eyes and ears and good imagination. It has even been reported that our engagement would be announced after the legislative ball. Wait! She heard all that from the first one she asked. She has told me so. She believes it!"
"Believes it! What did you tell her?"