"She wanted to forget, poor little girl, and that was the best way to bury it all out of sight." "There you are quite wrong," returned Moravia, now seated upon her footstool again, very close, with her elbows propped on Henry's knees, while she still held his hands and intermittently caressed them with her cheek.

"That is the way to keep hurts burning and paining forever, fostering them all in the dark--it is much better to speak about them and let the sun get in on them and take all their sorrow away.

That is why I would not let you be by yourself now, dear friend, as I suppose one of your reserved countrymen would have done.

I just determined to make you talk about it, and to realize that there are lots of lovely other things to comfort you, and that you are not all alone." Henry was strangely touched at her kind common sense; he already felt better and not so utterly crushed out with despair.

He told her how sweet and good she was and what a true, unselfish woman--but Moravia shook her head.
"I am not a bit; it is purely interested, because I am so awfully fond of you myself.