“That’s just what he said,” said Barbara, “and it’s true, Wilmot.  I’m almost sure now that I don’t really love him.  And that’s ugly enough.  But it’s worse to think that he really loves me, and that it’s my fault.”

Wilmot Allen did not make the mistake of saying that it was not her fault.  “It just shows, Barbs dear,” he said, “that it’s time to pull up.  You’ve got more darned temperament than anybody I ever saw.  It’s a great weapon, but you’ve got to learn to control it, and not swing it wild and hurt people.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Well, he seems to be a sensible fellow, and a fine fellow, and to have thought of you rather than himself.  You told him you’d marry him if he asked you?  Now, Barbs, listen to me.  That was a fool thing to say.”

“I know it”

“Do you realize how lucky you are to have said it to West instead of to some other fellow who happened to be on the make?  You’ve come through your young life almost entirely by good luck, not by good management.  You’ve run up against honorable men, instead of rotters.  That’s the answer.”

“I should think, feeling this way, you’d hate and despise me.”

His hand left the steering-wheel and gave hers a swift pat.

“Well, it’s over,” she said, “and I wanted you to know.  I’m going to pull back in my shell and be very dignified and honorable.  If anybody wants to get hurt through me, they’ve got to hurt themselves.”

“You’ll not try to see West any more?”

“No,” she said rather wearily, “that’s over.  And it’s for the best.  I’ve had a good lesson.  No man ought ever to take me seriously until I’ve told him every day for a year that I love him.  Maybe two years.”

“Just tell me once—­” he began

“Don’t,” she said, “please.  Now you confess.”

“Well, Barbs,” he said, “this week-end is a sort of good-by.  I’m in very deep, and I’m going to a new place to live a new life.”

“Well!” she exclaimed, “you’re not running away?”

“Only from temptation,” he said.  “I have spoken to all my creditors but one, and they have behaved decently and kindly.  Wherever I go I take my obligations with me, and, God willing, they shall all be paid.”

“Oh,” she said, “I think a man ought to make good in the midst of his temptations.”

“Might just as well say that you ought to finish your bust of Blizzard with one hand tied behind your back, since it’s a constant temptation to you to use both.  You ought also to be blindfolded and to work in the dark, since you are constantly tempted to look at your model and see what you are doing.”

“I shall miss you,” she said simply, “like everything.  Why—­”

“Why what?”

“It fills the future with blanks that can’t be filled in.”

“That may or may not be, Barbs.  If they can’t be filled in, you will write to me, and I will come back.”