To justify herself, she began, unwomanly, to weigh the evidence.

There was a boy, and he had said he loved her.

And he kissed her,--kissed her on the cheek,--by a yellow sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose in the garden.

Then there was an interval, and men had told her that they loved her--just when she was busiest with her work.

Then the boy came back, and at their very second meeting had told her that he loved her.
Then he had---- But there was no end to the things he had done.