"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?"
She said, with the warmth of total inexperience with villains, "What you
have been to me is only what concerns me. You have been good, generous,
noble! And I--like you."
"You must not like me."
"I _do_! I do like you! I shall continue to do so--always----"
"You can not!"
"What? Indeed I can! I like you very much. I defy you to prevent me!"
"I don't want to prevent you--but you mustn't do it."
She sat silent for a moment. Then her lip trembled.
"Why may I not like you?" she asked unsteadily.
"I am not worth it."
He didn't know it, but he had given her the most fascinating answer that
a man can give a young girl.
"If you are not worth it," she said tremulously, "you can become so."
"No, I never can."
"Why do you say that? No matter what a man has done--a young man--such
as you--he can become worthy again of a girl's friendship--if he wishes
to."
"I never could become worthy of yours."
"Why? What have you done? I don't care anyway. If you--if you want
my--my friendship you can have it."
"No," he groaned, "I am sunk too low to even dream of it! You don't
know--you don't know what you're saying. I am beyond the pale!"
He clutched his temples and shuddered. For a moment she gazed at him
piteously, then her timid hand touched his arm.
"I can't bear to see you in despair," she faltered, "--you who have been
so good to me. Please don't be unhappy--because--I want you to be
happy----"
"I can never be that."
"Why?"
"Because--I am in love!"
"What?"
"With a girl who--hates me."
"Oh," she said faintly. Then the surprise in her eyes faded vaguely into
wistfulness, and into something almost tender as she gazed at his bowed
head.
"Any girl," she said, scarcely knowing what she was saying, "who could
not love such a man as you is an absolutely negligible quantity."
His hands fell from his face and he sat up.
"Could _you_?"
"What?" she said, not understanding.
"Could you do what--what I--mentioned just now?"
She looked curiously at him for a moment, not comprehending. Suddenly a
rose flush stained her face.
"I don't think you mean to say that to me," she said quietly.
"Yes," he said, "I do mean to say it.... Because, since I first saw you,
I have--have dared to--to be in love with you."
"With _me_! We--you have not known me an hour!"
"I have known you three days."
"What?"
"_I_ am George Z. Green!"