She had not
utterly betrayed herself, then, since he translated it thus.
"Listen," he was saying. "I cared--terribly, but it's gone, and my heart
is empty. It's like an open grave, waiting for something that does not
come. Did you ever care?"
"Yes," she answered, with eyes downcast.
"Did you care for someone who did not care for you?"
"Yes," she replied, again.
"And he never knew?"
"No." The word was almost a whisper.
"He must have been a brute, not to have cared. Was it long ago?"
"Not very."
"Have I ever met him?"
The suggestion of an ironical smile hovered for a moment around her pale
lips, then vanished. "No."
"I have no right to--to ask his name."
"No. What difference does a name make?"
"None. Could you never bring yourself to care for anyone else?"
"No," she breathed. "Oh, no!"
"And yet, with your heart as empty as mine you still have pity enough
to--"
"To serve you," she answered. Her eyes met his clearly now. "To help
you--as your best friend might."
"Rose, dear Rose! You give me new courage, but how can I let you
sacrifice yourself for me?" "Believe me," she said diffidently, "there
is no question of sacrifice.
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