"It's not a question of forgiveness--is it?" he asked jerkily.
"You--you chucked me up. You--you told me a lie to get rid of me.
It--it isn't a question of forgiveness, do you think?"

She looked nonplussed, then she smiled. She took Jimmy's face between
her hands, holding it so that he was forced to meet her eyes; she stood
on tiptoe and softly kissed his chin.

"I'm sorry," she said, and now there was a very genuine ring of
earnestness in her voice. "I'm more sorry than I can ever say.
Forgive me, Jimmy; I've been punished enough. I--oh, if you knew how
miserable I've been."

Jimmy stood like a man turned to stone; he stared at her with a sort of
dread in his eyes. There were tears in hers; one big tear fell from
her long lashes, and splashed down on to the lilies she wore.

After a moment he spoke with difficulty.

"Are you . . . what are you trying to say to me?"

Her hands fell to her sides; she looked down with a touch of shame.

"I'm trying to say that I'm sorry; I'm trying to tell you that I--I
don't mind how poor you are. I thought I did, but--oh, Jimmy, I'd
rather have you, and no money at all, than--than be as rich as Croesus
with--with any other man."

"Cynthia!" Jimmy spoke her name in a stifled voice; she raised her