After a long pause: 

“I believe you really would!” said Roger with a note of sheer wonderment in his voice.

“I’ve just said so.”

“Well, my dear”—­he smiled briefly—­“thank you very much for the offer, but I’m not going to accept it.”

“Not going to accept it!” she repeated, utterly bewildered.  “But you can’t—­you won’t refuse!”

“I can and I do—­entirely refuse to marry you.”

Nan began to think his mind was wandering.

“No,” he said, detecting her thought.  “I’m as sane as you are.  Come here—­a little closer—­and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Rather nervously, Nan drew nearer to him.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said with a strange kindness and gentleness in his voice.  “I had a visitor this morning who told me some unpalatable truths about myself.  He asked me to release you from your engagement, and I flatly refused.  He also enlightened my ignorance concerning Peter Mallory and informed me he was now free to marry you.  That settled matters as far as I was concerned!  I made up my mind I would never give you up to another man.”  He paused.  “Since then I’ve had time for reflection. . . .  Reflection’s a useful kind of thing. . . .  Then, when you came in just now, looking like a broken flower with your white face and sorrowful eyes, I made a snatch at whatever’s left of a decent man in this battered old frame of mine.”

He paused and took Nan’s hand in his.  Very gently he drew the ring he had given her from her finger.

“You are quite free, now,” he said quietly.

“No, no!” Impulsively she tried to recover the ring.  “Let me be your wife!  I’m willing—­quite, quite willing!” she urged, her heart overflowing with tenderness and pity for this man who was now voluntarily renouncing the one thing left him.

“But Mallory wouldn’t be ‘quite willing,’” replied Roger, with a twisted smile.  “Nor am I. And an unwilling bridegroom isn’t likely to make a good husband!”

Nan’s mouth quivered.

“Roger—­” she began, but the sob in her throat choked into silence the rest of what she had meant to say.  Her hands went out to him, and he took them in his and held them.

“Will you kiss me—­just once, Nan?” he said.  “I don’t think Mallory would grudge it me.”

She bent over him, and for the first time unshrinkingly and with infinite tenderness, laid her lips on his.  Then very quietly she left the room.

She was conscious of a sense of awe.  First Maryon, and now, to an even greater degree, Roger, had revealed some secret quality of fineness with which no one would have credited them.

“I shall never judge anyone again,” she told Kitty later.  “You can’t judge people!  I shall always believe that everyone has got a little patch of goodness somewhere.  It’s the bit of God in them.  Even Judas Iscariot was sorry afterwards, and went out and hanged himself.”