girl you thought I was."

"Well, I thought ... I thought you were fond of me," Keith slowly said,
making an effort to speak coldly. "That was what I thought."

"Thought I'd stand anything!" she corrected. "And fall on your neck into
the bargain."

"Jenny, old girl.... That's not true. But I thought you'd understand
better than you've done. I thought you'd understand _why_ I told you.
You think I thought I was so sure of you.... I wish you'd try to see a
bit further." He leaned back again, not touching her, but dejectedly
frowning; his face pale beneath the tan. His anger had passed in a
deeper feeling. "I told you because you wanted to know about me. If I'd
been the sort of chap you're thinking I should have told a long George
Washington yarn, pretending to be an innocent hero. Well, I didn't. I'm
not an innocent hero. I'm a man who's knocked about for fifteen years.
You've got the truth. Women don't like the truth. They want a yarn. A
yappy, long, sugar-coated yarn, and lots of protestations. This is all
because I haven't asked you to forgive me--because I haven't sworn not
to do it again if only you'll forgive me. You want to see yourself
forgiving me. On a pinnacle.... Graciously forgiving me--"

"Oh, you're a beast!" cried Jenny. "Let me go home." She rose to her
feet, and stood in deep thought. For a moment Keith remained seated:
then he too rose. They did not look at one another, but with bent heads
continued to reconsider all that had been said.


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