she might have been talking to herself.

"I'm wondering," she said, "whether any woman ever really meant that
when she said it to a man whom she--" Crittenden turned quickly--"whom
she liked," added Judith as though she had not seen his movement. "She
may think it her duty to say it; she may say it because it is her duty;
but in her heart, I suppose, she wants him to keep on loving her just
the same--if she likes him--" Judith paused--"even more than a very
little. That's very selfish, but I'm afraid it's true."

And Judith sighed helplessly.

"I think you made it little enough that time," laughed Crittenden. "Are
you still afraid of giving me too much hope?"

"I am afraid of nothing--now."

"Thank you. You were ever too much concerned about me."

"I was. Other men may have found the fires of my conscience smouldering
sometimes, but they were always ablaze whenever you came near. I liked
you better than the rest--better than all----"

Crittenden's heart gave a faint throb and he finished the sentence for
her.

"But one."

"But one."