with a severe smile. "If Helen Cabot doesn't see the difference
between you and the other men she knows now," she said, "I doubt
if she ever will. Besides--" she continued, and then hesitated.
"Well, go on," urged Carroll.

"Well, I was only going to say," she explained, "that leaving the
girl alone never did the man any good unless he left her alone
willingly. If she's sure he still cares, it's just the same to
her where he is. He might as well stay on in London as go to
South Africa. It won't help him any. The difference comes when
she finds he has stopped caring. Why, look at Reggie. He tried
that. He went away for ever so long, but he kept writing me from
wherever he went, so that he was perfectly miserable--and I went
on enjoying myself. Then when he came back, he tried going about
with his old friends again. He used to come to the theatre with
them--oh, with such nice girls--but he always stood in the back
of the box and yawned and scowled--so I knew. And, anyway, he'd
always spoil it all by leaving them and waiting at the stage
entrance for me. But one day he got tired of the way I treated
him and went off on a bicycle tour with Lady Hacksher's girls and
some men from his regiment, and he was gone three weeks and never
sent me even a line; and I got so scared; I couldn't sleep, and
I stood it for three days more, and then I wired him to come
back or I'd jump off London Bridge; and he came back that very
night from Edinburgh on the express, and I was so glad to see him
that I got confused, and in the general excitement I promised to
marry him, so that's how it was with us."

"Yes," said the American, without enthusiasm; "but then I still
care, and Helen knows I care."