"Georgie"
"He's nothing of the kind," said she. "Don't you dare to call him names. If anyone is a hound it's me. And nobody could be more miserable."
"Tell me why you are so unhappy," said I sadly. "I should like to help you if I can. I can't tell you how pleased I should be to do something for you."
"No one," she said with a despairing sob, "can help me now. Least of all you."
I looked at her in astonishment, and she rose to face me defiantly.
"Why?" I asked, for I didn't understand even then.
"Because it is through you that,—oh, why do you force me to tell you? Don't you see? Can't you understand?"
"What—" I took a step nearer. "Drusilla!—You don't mean"—
"Yes," said she desperately, "that's exactly what I do mean. And I'm false to Georgie. The dearest and best and truest boy in the world."
I caught her hands in mine, but she
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