"I have a little dealing to do with him," Guy said meaningly, "and the only condition upon which I could have shown him any leniency, would be that you had ever cared for him; I am glad to know you have not."
"I would not say it, to bring him rigid justice at your hands," Honor interrupted, "but still I would rather declare, that I am entirely innocent of ever having had the slightest penchant in that direction."
"I will not prevent you from making that a boast," Guy answered, "but I might have known, that there could never exist any affinity between you two."
They had reached the doorway now, and Guy took the little hand Honor extended within his own—
"Good night," he said, and then rubbing her fingers caressingly between his warm palms, he said reproachfully:
"I have kept you too long, have I not, your hands are so cold?"
"Never mind that," she answered sadly, "that is not the coldness which makes us suffer most, if you never make me feel any other coldness than this, we will be good friends all our lives."
"Trust me," he answered earnestly, "that time will never come, Honor, when my coldness will chill you, the coldness of death will come upon me first."
Then their lips met again, and with a fond good-night, they parted.
Honor stole back to the little room within. She had not been an hour away altogether, and yet it seemed to her she was a dozen whole years older in experience. The night air had brought a ruddy glow into her pale face, and the happy tale of love just gathered from Guy's lips had kindled a light of dazzling beauty in her eyes.