“No, Larry,” she said gently, touched by the hopelessness in his voice, for he had spoken as though he already knew that his attempt to justify his engagement to Kitty was vain.  “No, Larry, you cannot be to Kitty everything that a man should be to his wife.  You cannot, without love, be a husband to her.”

Again they walked in silence for a little way.  Then Helen asked:  “And are you sure, Larry, that Kitty cares for you—­as a woman ought to care, I mean?”

“I could not have asked her to be my wife if I had not thought so,” he answered, with more spirit.

“Of course,” returned his companion gently, “and Kitty could not have answered, ‘yes,’ if she had not believed that you loved her.”

“Do you mean that you think Kitty does not care for me, Helen?”

“I know that she loves Phil Acton, Larry.  I saw it in her face when we first learned that he was hurt.  And to-day the poor girl confessed it.  She loved him all the time, Larry—­has loved him ever since they were boy and girl together.  She has tried to deny her heart—­she has tried to put other things above her love, but she knows now that she cannot.  It is fortunate for you both that she realized her love for Mr. Acton before she had spoiled not only her own life but yours as well.”

“But, how could she promise to be my wife when she loved Phil?” he demanded.

“But, how could you ask her when you—­” Helen retorted quickly, without thinking of herself.  Then she continued bravely, putting herself aside in her effort to make him understand.  “You tempted her, Larry.  You did not mean it so, perhaps, but you did.  You tempted her with your wealth—­with all that you could give her of material luxuries and ease and refinement.  You tempted her to substitute those things for love.  I know, Larry—­I know, because you see, dear man, I was once tempted, too.”

He made a gesture of protest, but she went on, “You did not know, but I can tell you now that nothing but the memory of my dear father’s teaching saved me from a terrible mistake.  You are a man now, Larry.  You are more to me than any man in the world, save one; and more than any man in the world, save that one, I respect and admire you for the manhood you have gained.  But oh, Larry, Larry, don’t you see? ’When a man’s a man’ there is one thing above all others that he cannot do.  He cannot take advantage of a woman’s weakness; he cannot tempt her beyond her strength; he must be strong both for himself and her; he must save her always from herself.”

The man lifted his head and looked away toward Granite Mountain.  As once before this woman had aroused him to assert his manhood’s strength, she called now to all that was finest and truest in the depth of his being.

“You are always right, Helen,” he said, almost reverently.

“No, Larry,” she answered quickly, “but you know that I am right in this.”

“I will free Kitty from her promise at once,” he said, as though to end the matter.