understood at last. It was not on Gerald's account that they could not
talk of flying and of Chev, it was because--because their hearts were
broken over Chev himself. "Oh, forgive me!" he gasped again.

"Dear lad, there is nothing to forgive," Lady Sherwood returned. "How
could we help loving your generous praise of our poor darling? We loved
it, and you for it; we wanted to hear it, but we were afraid. We were
afraid we might break down, and that you would find out."

The tears were still running down her cheeks. She did not brush them
away now; she seemed glad to have them there at last.

Sinking down on his knees, he caught her hands. "Why did you _let_ me do
such a horrible thing?" he cried. "Couldn't you have trusted me to
understand? Couldn't you _see_ I loved him just as you did--No, no!" he
broke down humbly. "Of course I couldn't love him as his own people did.
But you must have seen how I felt about him--how I admired him, and
would have followed him anywhere--and _of course_ if I had known, I
should have gone away at once."

"Ah, but that was just what we were afraid of," she said quickly. "We
were afraid you would go away and have a lonely leave somewhere. And in
these days a boy's leave is so precious a thing that nothing must spoil
it--_nothing_," she reiterated; and her tears fell upon his hands like
a benediction. "But we didn't do it very well, I'm afraid," she went on
presently, with gentle contrition. "You were too quick and
understanding; you guessed there was something wrong. We were sorry not
to manage better," she apologized.

"Oh, you wonderful, wonderful people!" he gasped. "Doing everything for