"You've worn better than I have," she observed at last, breaking the
silence with a short laugh, "you must be--let me see--fifty. While I'm
barely thirty-one--and I look forty--and the rest."

Suddenly he reached out and gathered her thin, restless hands into his,
holding them in a kind, firm clasp.

"Oh, my dear!" he said sadly. "Is there nothing I can do?"

"Yes," she answered steadily. "There is. And it's to ask you if you will
do it that I sent for you. Do you suppose"--she swallowed, battling with
the tremor in her voice--"that I _wanted_ you to see me--as I am now?
It was months--months before I could bring myself to send you the little
pearl ring."

He stooped and kissed one of the hands he held.

"Dear, foolish woman! You would always be--just Pauline--to me."

Her eyes softened suddenly.

"So you never married, after all?"

He straightened his shoulders, meeting her glance squarely--almost
sternly.

"Did you imagine that I should?" he asked quietly.

"No, no, I suppose not." She looked away. "What a mess I made of things,
didn't I? However, it's all past now; the game's nearly over, thank