She knew the place well-she had sat there many times-with him and with another--she would go there now and think her own thoughts. It was hidden from the driveways, and the place was sweet with memories which need not goad and pain her. She remembered the last time she had sat there.

It came back to her now with a sudden vividness. It was the day she had refused-the other one. She remembered the dress she wore-a thin little mull, cut low about the throat and strewn with pink rosebuds.

And it was on that same bench. She had done it very gently. She had simply shown him her ring, and begged him with a little catch of the breath to be her friend-always.

His was the sort of heart a woman might warm herself by all her life. He was tender and impulsive like herself, and he had always understood-always. How could she have forgotten for so long? Friends were rare-and he had promised to be her friend through everything.