the welcome guest, took his punishment manfully, drawing her arm in
his and walking her yet other turns up and down the long platform
until his patience and the silence had wrought their perfect work.

"Does it hurt much?" she asked softly, after a long time.

"You would have to change places with me to know just how much it
hurts," he answered. "And yet you haven't left me quite desolate,
Virginia. I still have something left--all I've ever had, I fancy."

"And that is--"

"My love for you, you know. It isn't at all contingent upon your yes
or no; or upon possession--it never has been, I think. It has never
asked much except the right to be."

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: "Cousin Billy, I do
believe that you are the best man that ever lived. And I am
ashamed--ashamed!"

"What for?"

"If I have spoiled you, ever so little, for some truer, worthier
woman."

"You haven't," he responded; "you mustn't take that view of it. I am
decently in love with my work--a work that not a few wise men have
agreed could best be done alone. I don't think there will be any other
woman. You see, there is only one Virginia. Shall we go in now?"