from the possibility of blackmail in such cases. However,
Lizette's father behaved decently, and was duly grateful for the
moderate sum of money which George handed him in parting. He
promised to break the news gently to Lizette, and George went
away with his mind made up that he would never see her again.

This resolution he kept, and he considered himself very virtuous
in doing it. But the truth was that he had grown used to
intimacy with a woman, and was restless without it. And that, he
told himself, was why he yielded to the shameful temptation the
night of that fatal supper party.

He paid for the misadventure liberally in remorse. He felt that
he had been a wretch, that he had disgraced himself forever, that
he had proved himself unworthy of the pure girl he was to marry.
So keen was his feeling that it was several days before he could
bring himself to see Henriette again; and when he went, it was
with a mind filled with a brand-new set of resolutions. It was
the last time that he would ever fall into error. He would be a
new man from then on. He thanked God that there was no chance of
his sin being known, that he might have an opportunity to prove
his new determination.

So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a
part of them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft
summer evening, with Henriette's mother occupied with her
crocheting at a decorous distance. George, in reverent and
humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he was really
unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always been
as good as he should have been; he said that her purity and