limpid, pure from the hidden springs of the spirit. He kissed its
piteous course upon her cheek.

"Olga!" he whispered softly. "What have I done?"

"Killed something in me--I think--something gentle and noble that was
trying so hard to live--"

"Forgive me," he stammered. "I didn't know you cared so much."

She started in his arms, then slowly released herself, and drew away
while with an anxious gaze he followed her.

"Our friendship--I cared for that more than anything else in the
world," she said simply.

"It shall be stronger," he began.

"No--friendship does not thrive on kisses."

"Love--" he began. But her quick gesture silenced him.

"Love, boy! What can you know of love!"

"Nothing. Teach me!"

She looked up into his face, her hands upon his shoulders holding him
at arm's length, flushed with her empty victory--ice-cold with self
contempt at the means she had used to accomplish it. Another man--a
man of her own world--would have played the game as she had played it,