"And was it never explained?"

"Never until to-day. He was far too proud a man to call me back."

"But the girl?" queried Helen, with increasing eagerness. "What did she
do?"

"Oh, the girl," he repeated, turning away again and directing his gaze
out of the window; "what would you expect her to do? She was only a
peasant; and though I was honest enough then, I outgrew that fever
centuries ago."

"Yes, you did," returned Helen, with gentle persistence, "but what did
she do?"

"What do women usually do when they break with one lover? Get another,
I suppose!"

The words were so hard and coarse to come from a man like Grant Herman
that she involuntarily looked up quickly at him, and perhaps he noticed
the action.

It was evident that some deep pain had provoked the expression, yet had
found no relief in the rough words. The sculptor turned toward his
companion as if to speak. Then slowly his eyes fell, and he said
firmly, if a little stiffly:

"I believe I do her injustice. If she ever loved a man she was one who
would love him always."