THORNS AND ROSE PETALS
simple. Mr. Baynes. . . something in his manner. . . I knew he might be silly. . . Only I did so want to help you." She paused. Just for one instant she saw one untellable indiscretion as it were in a lightning flash. A chance meeting it was, a "silly" thing or so said, a panic, retreat. She would have told it—had she known how. But she could not do it. She hesitated. She abolished it—untold. She went on: "And then, I thought he had sent the roses and I was frightened. . . . I was frightened."
"Dear one," said Lewisham. "Dear one! I have been cruel to you. I have been unjust. I understand. I do understand. Forgive me. Dearest—forgive me."
"I did so want to do something for you. It was all I could do—that little money. And then you were angry. I thought you didn't love me any more because I did not understand your work. . . . And that Miss Heydinger— Oh! it was hard."
"Dear one," said Lewisham, "I do not care your little finger for Miss Heydinger."
"I know how I hamper you. But if you will help me. Oh! I would work, I would study. I would do all I could to understand."
"Dear," whispered Lewisham. "Dear."
"And to have her———"
"Dear," he vowed, "I have been a brute. I will end all that. I will end all that."
He took her suddenly into his arms and kissed her.
"Oh, I know I'm stupid," she said.
"You're not. It's I have been stupid. I have been unkind, unreasonable. All to-day—. . . I've
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