But my friend Bertha Cross treated me as I deserved.

She declared that she was ashamed of me.

But do not, pray do not, think me worse than I was.
I ran away really because I felt I had surprised a secret.

I was embarrassed,--I lost my head.

I'm sure you don't think me capable of really mean feelings ?" "But, old man," put in the artist, in a half pained voice, "what the deuce does it all mean?
Tell us the whole story, do." Will told it, jestingly, effectively.
"I was _quite_ sure," sounded, at the close, in Rosamund's voice of tender sympathy, "that you had some noble motive.