He learned that, however deliberately he started in to think of Billy, he ended every time in thinking of Alice.

He thought of how good she had been to him, and of how faithful she had been in helping him to fight his love for Billy.
Just here he decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, his feeling of anger against Calderwell was merely the fear of losing this helpful comradeship that he so needed.

Even with himself, however, Arkwright could not keep up this farce long, and very soon he admitted miserably that it was not the comradeship of Alice Greggory that he wanted or needed, but the love.
He knew it now.

No longer was there any use in beating about the bush.
He did love Alice Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably stupid had he been that he had not found it out until now.

And now it was too late.
Had not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's devotion?
Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told Calderwell that he might have a clear field?
Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own mind before it was too late! But was it, after all, quite too late?
He and Alice were old friends.
Away back in their young days in their native town they had been, indeed, almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion.