It--it will not be very hard for me to love you, I'm sure," she concluded, with a whimsical little smile that went straight to his sore, disfigured heart.

A lump came into his throat and his eyes began to smart so suddenly that a mist came over them before he could blink his lids.

He was very young, was George Tresslyn, despite the things that go to make men old.
"Gee!" he said, astonished by his own emotions.

Then he gripped her slender, ringless hand in his huge palm,--and was further surprised to discover that she did not wince.

"We're not acting like Tresslyns at all, Anne.