rue," broke in Rose, her voice trembling a
little in spite of her effort at self-control.

"Tell you it isn't ... true?" echoed the other, with lifted eyebrows.
"I'm afraid that I don't quite underst ..."

"But you _do_ understand, Miss Treville, why do you say that you don't?
It is in the paper."

"Perhaps I meant to say that I do not understand why you should come
here to ask such a question, Miss Webb," was the icy response.

Rose was silent. What answer could she make to this pertinent question?
She felt the hot tears starting to her eyes; but, even as she was on the
point of turning toward the door, with a little choked sob of bitter
chagrin, the other continued. Curiosity had unloosed her tongue.

"Well? May I be so bold as to inquire what interest you may have in my
personal affairs, Miss Webb? Frankly, I am at a loss to understand the
meaning of this unexpected, and--I might say--somewhat unusual visit."

"I ... I don't know as I _can_ explain," began Rose, hesitantly. "I ...
I felt that I had to see you, because ... I had a letter yesterday from
... from Dr. MacDonald...."

"Ah."

"Of course he writes to me, you _know_ that he is my guardian," she
answered the interruption with a flash of spirit. "He said in it that he
was coming home just as soon as he was able to ... to get well and ...
be married, and then that paper.... Oh, Miss Treville, surely it isn't
so. You wouldn't throw him over, when he is so far away, and ... and
sick?"

The other's voice was not quite as steady as before, when she answered,
"I don't see why I am called upon to explain my ... to explain anything
to you, Miss Webb."

"Then it _is_ true." The sentence rang out sharply. "And he doesn't
know. He thinks that you are waiting, and ..."

"We need not discuss the matter, in fact I doubt if the doctor would
appreciate your ... shall we say 'championage'? The matter is between
him and me, wholly."

"No, it is not, Miss Treville," flared Rose, with the angry color at
last flooding her cheeks. "I have heard people say that, if that story
is true, he is lucky to have escaped marrying you; but, just the same,
those of us who _really_ love him--you needn't look like that, of course
I love him--don't want to have him hurt, as any man would be who was
cast off like an old glove while he was far away and had no chance to
speak for himself. That is why I hoped it wasn't true, and that you
hadn't, perhaps, killed his faith in my kind. An