"No," he said gloomily, "I'm really a pariah."

"You! Why do you say such things, after you have been so--perfectly charming to a frightened girl?"

"I'm a pariah," he repeated. "I'm a social outcast! I--I know it, now."

And he leaned his head wearily on both palms.

The girl looked at him in consternation.

"Are _you_ unhappy?" she asked.

"Wretched."

"Oh," she said softly, "I didn't know that.... I am so sorry.... And to think that you took all _my_ troubles on your shoulders, too,--burdened with your own! I--I _knew_ you were that kind of man," she added warmly.

He only shook his head, face buried in his hands.

"I am _so_ sorry," she repeated gently. "Would it help you if you told me?"

He did not answer.

"Because," she said sweetly, "it would make me very happy if I could be of even the very slightest use to you!"

No response.

"Because you have been so kind."

No response.

"--And so p-pleasant and c-cordial and----"

No response.

She looked at the young fellow who sat there with head bowed in his hands; and her blue eyes grew wistful.

"Are you in physical pain?"

"Mental," he said in a m.u.f.fled voice.

"I am sorry. Don't you believe that I am?" she asked pitifully.

"You would not be sorry if you knew why I am suffering," he muttered.

"How _can_ you say that?" she exclaimed warmly. "Do you think I am ungrateful? Do you think I am insensible to delicate and generous emotions? Do you suppose I could ever forget what you have done for me?"

"Suppose," he said in a m.u.f.fled voice, "I turned out to be a--a villain?"

"You couldn't!"

"Suppose it were true that I am one?"

She said, with the warmth of total inexperience with villains, "What you have been to me is only what concerns me. You have been good, generous, n.o.ble! And I--like you."

"You must not like me."

"I _do_! I do like you! I shall continue to do so--always----"

"You can not!"

"What? Indeed I can! I like you very much. I defy you to prevent me!"

"I don't want to prevent you--but you mustn't do it."

She sat silent for a moment. Then her lip trembled.

"Why may I not like you?" she asked unsteadily.

"I am not worth it."

He didn't know it, but he had given her the most fascinating answer that a man can give a young girl.

"If you are not worth it," she said tremulously, "you can become so."

"No, I never can."

"Why do you say that? No matter what a man has done--a young man--such as you--he can become worthy again of a girl's friendship--if he wishes to."

"I never could become worthy of yours."

"Why? What have you done? I don't care anyway. If you--if you want my--my friendship you can have it."

"No," he groaned, "I am sunk too low to even dream of it! You don't know--you don't know what you're saying. I am beyond the pale!"

He clutched his temples and shuddered. For a moment she gazed at him piteously, then her timid hand touched his arm.

"I can't bear to see you in despair," she faltered, "--you who have been so good to me. Please don't be unhappy--because--I want you to be happy----"

"I can never be that."

"Why?"

"Because--I am in love!"

"What?"

"With a girl who--hates me."

"Oh," she said faintly. Then the surprise in her eyes faded vaguely into wistfulness, and into something almost tender as she gazed at his bowed head.

"Any girl," she said, scarcely knowing what she was saying, "who could not love such a man as you is an absolutely negligible quant.i.ty."