"Plain Anne"
wrenched them away again, and she read the question in my eyes.
"Yes," she whispered, "I do. I can't help it. I try not to. You don't know how hard I've tried. You have bewitched me, I think. I am not myself—and—oh, it is awful—awful. It will break Georgie's heart, if he knows."
I began to speak hastily—then remembered once more my promise to that wretched boy, and stopped.
"I can't believe it," said I slowly. I was half dazed with joy at my discovery. "It is too good to be true—it—"
"No," said she bitterly. "It is so awful that it must be true. What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?"
"If you don't love him," I said slowly, "why did you ever—"
She groaned.
"I did love him," she said in an ashamed voice, "or I thought I did. He is so strong and straightforward and handsome and—and such a dear boy. I couldn't help being fond of him, and how was I to
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