"I am sorry," she said at last. "I am sorry you have spoken to me
of it. I have felt for some time that you--you cared for me. No,
Lieutenant Bray, I cannot be your wife."

"I know you love him," he said.

"Yes, it is plain. I have not tried to hide it."

"You must understand why I asked you to be my wife, knowing that
you love him. It was to hear it from your own lips, so that I would
not go through life with the feeling, after all, that it might
have been. Will you tell me the reason why you cannot marry him?
He must love you."

"Lieutenant Bray, he would marry me to-morrow, I think, if I were
to consent. It isn't that. It would not be right for me to consent.
You profess to love me. I have seen it in your eyes--oh, I have
learned much of men in the past few months--and I determined, if
you ever asked me to marry you, to ask a question in return. Do
you really know who I am?"

He looked his surprise. "Why, the daughter of David Cable, of
course."

"No, I am not his daughter."

"His stepdaughter?"

"Not even that. You come from a proud Southern family. I do not