Nell of Shorne Mills

She winced, and looked up at him reproachfully.

"Oh, how cruel of you, Drake!" she murmured, "As if I hadn't suffered

enough!"

"Suffered!"

He smiled down at her, with something as nearly approaching a sneer as

Drake Selbie could bring himself to bestow upon a woman.

"Yes. Drake, did you think I was quite heartless? that--I--I--did what I

did without suffering? Ah, no, you couldn't think that; you know me too

well."

Her audacity brought a smile to his lips, and he found it difficult to

restrain a laugh of amusement. It was because he had learned to know her

so well that he himself had not suffered a pang at their broken

engagement--at least, no pang since he had learned to know and love

Nell.

Where was she? How could he get away from this woman, whose face was

upturned to him with passionate pleading on it?

"Have you seen my uncle lately?" he asked grimly, but with a kind of

suddenness.

"No," she replied, and the lie came "like truth"--so like truth that

Drake felt ashamed of his suspicion of her motive.

She had not, then, heard of his uncle's offer? Then--then why was she

moved at sight of him? Why were her eyes moist with unshed tears, the

pressure of her hand on his arm tremulous and beseeching?

"No," she said; "I--I have been scarcely anywhere. I have--not been

well. I came down here to the Chesneys' to bury myself--just to bury

myself. I have been so wretched, so miserable, Drake."

"I'm sorry," he said gravely. "But why?"

She looked up at him reproachfully.

"Don't you--know? Ah, Drake, can't you guess? Don't--don't look at me

like that and smile. It is not like you to be so--so hard."

"We men are hard or soft as you women make us, Luce," he said quietly.

"Remember that I have been through the mill. I was not hard or

cruel--once."

It was an unwise thing to say. Never, if you have done with a woman, or

she has done with you, talk sentiment, says Rousseau. It was unwise, for

it let Luce in.

"I know! Yes, it was all my fault. Drake, do you think I don't know

that? Do you think that I don't tell myself so every hour of the day,

every hour at night, when I lay awake thinking of--of the past?"

"The past is buried, Luce," he said, with a short laugh. "Don't let us

dig it up again. After all, you acted wisely----"