protecting me. Could it have been merely from a sense of gratitude for the small service I had rendered her? This was hard to conceive; yet it was even harder to convince myself that she really cared—that her swift sacrifice of self had been other than the impulse of a moment. Why, really, she almost had reason to hate me for what had occurred. I had practically forced her into marriage, needlessly, uselessly. She might even be justified in believing I realized the truth, and was guilty of a cowardly deceit. My memory of her in the past was that of a proud, headstrong girl, possessing a quick temper, careless of whom she hurt. I had never thought she even liked me, or valued my friendship, and this adventure was far more liable to arouse hatred than affection. She was of a nature to resent the unfair advantage I had taken, and declare war. In the moment of her first surprise she had sprung to my defense, but as soon as she could consider the conditions, her whole nature would turn against me—even now the feeling of disgust had come. She had turned coldly away, hating the very sight of me staring out of the window until I should disappear, dreading lest I prove cur enough to boast of our relationship. Well, the lady need not fear that. Nichols might tell the story, but it would never find utterance on my lips. And it would soon be over
