"I don't think you--will be--a small factor," said the girl in a low
tone.

He seemed not to hear. "To take up the fight where I left it, when a
boy--"

"The fight!" The words had a far-away sound; perhaps she saw once more,
in fancy, an island, the island. Life was for strong people, striving
people. And he had fought and striven many times; hardest of all, with
himself. She stole a glance at his face; he was looking down; the
silence lengthened. He waited; she seemed to find nothing else to say.
He too did not speak; she found herself walking toward the door.

"Good-by." The scene seemed the replica of a scene somewhere else,
sometime before. Ah, in the garden, amid flowers, fragrance. There were
no flowers here--

"Good-by." He spoke in a low voice. "As I told Captain Forsythe,
you--you need not feel concern about the story ever coming out--"

"Concern? What do you mean?"

"Your telegram to Captain Forsythe, the fear that brought you to
London--"

"The--you thought that?"--swiftly.

"What else?"

The indignation in her eyes met the surprise in his.