"What are you thinking so intently about, Mr. Ford?" she asked me.

"Shall I tell you?" I asked.

"Yes, by all means," she replied. "I am sure the subject is very grave,
you look so unhappy."

Now the time was come! That beautiful face would never look into mine
again. I steeled my heart by thinking of the tiny baby face I had seen
on the wooden bench of the pier--so like hers--the little drowned face!

"I will tell you of what I am thinking, Mrs. Fleming," I said; "but I
must tell it to you as a story."

"Do," she said, in a gentle voice, and she gathered the scarlet poppies
as she spoke.

"There were two friends once upon a time," I began, "who loved each
other with a love deeper and truer than the love of brothers."

She nodded her head with a charming smile; I saw an expression of great
relief pass over her face.

"I understand," she said; "as you and Lance love each other, there is
something most beautiful in the love of men."

"These two spent much time together; their interests were identical,
they shared at that time the same hopes and fears. They were parted for
a time, one was busy with his own affairs, the other, an invalid, went
to Brighton for his health."