She
leaned her head in her hands, and forced down her tears.
"You--don't understand," she said at last.
"Don't I?" said Tots. "Why, I thought we were gettin' on so well."
"I know. I know." She was making a supreme effort. It must be now or
never. "You have been very good to me. But--but--we never have got on
really. It was all a mistake."
"What do you mean?" said Tots.
She fancied his tone had changed a little. It sounded somehow brisker
than usual. He was angry, whispered her panting heart, and if she
angered him--ah, how should she bear it? But the next instant a big,
consoling hand pressed her shoulder, and the misgiving passed.
"Don't tremble like this, little one," he said. "You can't be afraid of
me. No one ever was before. There has been a mistake, you say. What was
it? Can't you bring yourself to tell me?"
There was something in his voice that moved her strangely, kindling that
in her which turned her passionate regret to tragedy. Her head sank a
little lower in her hands. How could she tell him? How could she? Yet he
must know, even if--even if it transformed his love to hatred. The bare
thought hurt her intolerably. He was the only friend she had. And
yet--and yet--he must know. She swallowed a desperate sob, and spoke.
"I've been deceiving you. I've trifled with you. When you proposed to
me--I didn't know--didn't realise--you were in earnest.
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