The Pomp of Yesterday

by Joseph Hocking

'Not a bit.'

'Oh, I have been mad—criminally mad!' she burst out passionately. 'No one despises me more than I despise myself. You say he loves me, but he would hate me, scorn me if—if he knew.'

'Knew what?'

'I can't tell you. I simply can't.'

'But you will!' I said grimly; 'you will tell me now.'

'Major Luscombe!'

'Yes, be as angry as you like, I am angry too. And I tell you plainly that I am not going to allow my friend's life to be ruined because of the vagaries of a silly child. For you are a silly child. You have got hold of some hare-brained fancy, and you are magnifying it into a mountain. You've got to tell me all about it, because I'm sure it stands in the way of my friend's happiness.'

'But you don't understand. I've been—oh, I'm ashamed of myself!'

Some men perhaps would, on listening to this outburst, have imagined some guilty secret on her part. But knowing her as I did, it was impossible for me to do so.

'You are going to tell me about it,' I said. 'What is it?'