raised points of such psychological interest. I must find time to
read one."

The girl had shifted her position till, instead of her full face,
her profile was turned toward him. Looking away toward the paddock
that lay brilliant in sunshine on the skirts of the apple orchard,
she asked in low slow tones, twisting her hands in her lap:

"Don't you think that perhaps if B found out afterward--when she
had married A, you know--that she had cared for him so very, very
much, he might be a little sorry?"

"If he were a gentleman he would regret it deeply."

"I mean--sorry on his own account; that--that he had thrown away
all that, you know?"

The philosopher looked meditative.

"I think," he pronounced, "that it is very possible he would. I
can well imagine it."

"He might never find anybody to love him like that again," she
said, gazing on the gleaming paddock.

"He probably would not," agreed the philosopher.

"And--and most people like being loved, don't they?"

"To crave for love is an almost universal instinct, Miss May."