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"It isn't anything to frighten you," he said. "It may even relieve you. Shall I tell you?"

Her lips formed a voiceless word of consent.

"Then I'll tell you… I know George Z. Green."

"W-what?"

"I know him very well. He is – is an exceedingly – er – nice fellow."

"But I don't care! I'm not going to marry him!.. Am I? Do you think I am?"

And she fell a-trembling so violently that, alarmed, he drew her to his shoulder, soothing her like a child, explaining that in the twentieth century no girl was going to marry anybody against her will.

Like a child she cowered against him, her hands tightening within his. The car swayed and rattled on its clanging trucks; the feeble lamp glimmered.

"If I thought," she said, "that George Z. Green was destined to marry me under such outrageous and humiliating circumstances, I – I believe I would marry the first decent man I encountered – merely to confound the Princess Zimbamzim – and every wicked crystal-gazer in the world! I – I simply hate them!"

He said: "Then you believe in them."

"How can I help it? Look at me! Look at me here, in full light – asking protection of you!.. And I don't care! I – think I am becoming more angry than – than frightened. I think it is your kindness that has given me courage. Somehow, I feel safe with you. I am sure that I can rely on you; can't I?"

"Yes," he said miserably.

"I was very sure I could when I saw you sitting there on the platform before the milk-train came in… I don't know how it was – I was not afraid to speak to you… Something about you made me confident… I said to myself, 'He is good! I know it!' And so I spoke to you."

Conscience was tearing him inwardly to shreds, as the fox tore the Spartan. How could he pose as the sort of man she believed him to be, and endure the self-contempt now almost overwhelming him?

"I – I'm not good," he blurted out, miserably.

She turned and looked at him seriously for a moment. Then, for the first time aware of his arm encircling her, and her hands in his, she flushed brightly and freed herself, straightening up in her little wooden chair.

"You need not tell me that," she said. "I know you are good."

"As a m-matter of f-fact," he stammered. "I'm a scoundrel!"

"What?"

"I can't bear to have you know it – b-but I am!"

"How can you say that? – when you've been so perfectly sweet to me?" she exclaimed.

And after a moment's silence she laughed deliciously.

"Only to look at you is enough," she said, "for a girl to feel absolute confidence in you."

"Do you feel that?"

"I?.. Yes… Yes, I do. I would trust you without hesitation. I have trusted you, have I not? And after all, it is not so strange. You are the sort of man to whom I am accustomed. We are both of the same sort."

"No," he said gloomily, "I'm really a pariah."

"You! Why do you say such things, after you have been so – perfectly charming to a frightened girl?"

"I'm a pariah," he repeated. "I'm a social outcast! I – I know it, now." And he leaned his head wearily on both palms.

The girl looked at him in consternation.

"Are you unhappy?" she asked.

"Wretched."

"Oh," she said softly, "I didn't know that… I am so sorry… And to think that you took all my troubles on your shoulders, too, – burdened with your own! I – I knew you were that kind of man," she added warmly.

He only shook his head, face buried in his hands.

"I am so sorry," she repeated gently. "Would it help you if you told me?"

He did not answer.

"Because," she said sweetly, "it would make me very happy if I could be of even the very slightest use to you!"

No response.

"Because you have been so kind."

No response.

" – And so p-pleasant and c-cordial and – "

No response.

She looked at the young fellow who sat there with head bowed in his hands; and her blue eyes grew wistful.

"Are you in physical pain?"

"Mental," he said in a muffled voice.

"I am sorry. Don't you believe that I am?" she asked pitifully.

"You would not be sorry if you knew why I am suffering," he muttered.

"How can you say that?" she exclaimed warmly. "Do you think I am ungrateful? Do you think I am insensible to delicate and generous emotions? Do you suppose I could ever forget what you have done for me?"

"Suppose," he said in a muffled voice, "I turned out to be a – a villain?"

"You couldn't!"

"Suppose it were true that I am one?"