were reeling back from a precipice. To her came one of those moments when we realize, as by a blinding flash of illumination, more than all our previous years have taught us. She pulled her hand from Roy’s.
“Oh, I can’t marry you—I can’t—I can’t,” she cried, wildly.
Roy turned pale—and also looked rather foolish. He had—small blame to him—felt very sure.
“What do you mean?” he stammered.
“I mean that I can’t marry you,” repeated Anne desperately. “I thought I could—but I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?” Roy asked more calmly.
“Because—I don’t care enough for you.”
A crimson streak came into Roy’s face.
“So you’ve just been amusing yourself these two years?” he said slowly.
“No, no, I haven’t,” gasped poor Anne. Oh, how could she explain? She couldn’t explain. There are some things that cannot be explained. “I did think I cared—truly I did—but I know now I don’t.”
“You have ruined my life,” said Roy bitterly.
“Forgive me,” pleaded Anne miserably, with hot cheeks and stinging eyes.
Roy turned away and stood for a few minutes looking out seaward. When he came back to Anne, he was very pale again.
“You can give me no hope?” he said.
Anne shook her head mutely.
“Then—good-bye,” said Roy. “I can’t understand it—I can’t believe you are not the woman I’ve
