lieving how happy we have been since I left college! Oh, I love
father so much, I never could love him less! Are your father and
mother any less dear to you for loving me?"

This was a question Harry could not answer fairly. He remembered his
mother's appeal but a few hours previously. He knew that under it he
had been unfaithful to Adriana--knew that he had been willing to
sacrifice her happiness to gratify a mere social exigency--knew that
he had put Rose's interests before Adriana's interests--knew that he
had been absolutely considerate of the old ties, and that he was now
seeking the new one, not as the first and the last, the be-all, and
the end-all, of his existence; but as some fresh, delicious element to
be lost in the old element, some quick and piquant spice, with which
to make keener and sweeter the old tedious, monotonous experience,
which, after all, he was not willing to lose in the joyousness of the
new one. He answered Yanna's question therefore guardedly; he had even
a feeling that she ought not to have asked it.

"Of course, I love my family, Yanna, just the same as I ever did. My
love for you is quite independent of that love. I have been
practically the head of the house for many years, and to lose me is,
therefore, like losing the head of the house."

"Hardly so, Harry. I think Mr. Filmer is quite able to take care of
his family's interests, if it should be necessary for him to do so.
Father said he never met a man at once so cautious and so honorable in
business."

"In a matter of buying and selling, father is more than equal to his
circumstances. I am speaking of our social life. In society, he is a
perfect child; in fact, we continually have to shield his mistakes
behind his learning. It is for this reason, my own sweet Yanna, that
mother thinks we ought to keep our engagement secret."

"Our engagement secret! Your mother thinks it! Did you ask Mrs.
Filmer's permission to offer yourself to me?" As she spoke, she gently
withdrew from his embrace and looked with a steady countenance at him.
Harry was like a man between two fires; his face burned, he felt
almost irritable. Why couldn't Yanna take what he had to offer, and be
content?

"Mother lifted a book in my room," he said, "and a copy of the letter
I sent you fell out of it."

"And she read one of your letters? I am glad you have told me. I
certainly shall _not_ write to you, Harry. I withdraw my promise."

"Oh, nonsense, Yanna! It f