"But one."
And that one had been unworthy, and Judith had sent him adrift. She had always been frank with Crittenden. That much he knew and no more—not even the man's name; but how he had wondered who and where and what manner of man he was! And how he had longed to see him!
They were passing over a little bridge in a hollow where a cool current of air struck them and the freshened odour of moistening green things in the creek-bed—the first breath of the night that was still below the cloudy horizon.
"Deterioration," said Judith, almost sharply. "What did you mean by that?"
Crittenden hesitated, and she added:
"Go on; we are no longer children."
"Oh, it was nothing, or everything, just as you look at it. I made a discovery soon after you went away. I found that when I fell short of the standard you"—Crittenden spoke slowly—"had set for me, I got at least mental relief. I couldn't think of you until—until I had recovered myself again."
"So you——"
"I used the discovery."
"That was weak."