ut Ethel was not to be silenced so easily.

"I don't know what you are talking about; but it's nonsense, anyway,"
she answered. "Why, she worships you. Any one can see that."

"Worships me!" echoed Donald, with sarcastic inflection. "What's the
sense in exaggerating like that, Ethel? I suppose that she is fond of me
in a way; the way you are, but ..."

"I never suspected you of lacking courage before," interrupted the
other. "If you haven't the nerve to ask that child yourself, _I_ will. I
guess that I'm a better judge of feminine nature than you, Donald."

"You failed to prove it once before," he retorted, and instantly added,
with a tone of unusual contrition, "I am sorry I said that. It was
unnecessary and unworthy. But, really, I can't allow you to play Mrs.
John Alden to my Miles Standish. There is a reason ..."

"Oh, you men. You're all alike, when you climb on some sort of a high
horse and become mysterious. I don't know what you are talking
about--perhaps you are deluding yourself with an absurdly chivalrous
notion about being her guardian--but I tell you this. A normal girl, who
is as full of life as Rose, can't be expected to be like the wishy-washy
heroines of some murky novel, remain faithful unto death to her first
unrequited love, and turn into a sweetly spiritual old maid, waiting for
the hero to come and claim her. ''Tain't accordin' ter huming nater,' as
Captain Jim says. The mating call is too strong, and she is sure to
respond to the love note of another sooner or later;--don't flatter
yourself that you are the only man in Smiles' creation. She's as sweet
and pure as any girl could be, but she's human, like the rest of us ...
that's what makes me love her so, and, unless 'you speak for yourself,
John' ..."

"I can't, Ethel, I ... s-s-sh."

The girl's light footsteps on the descending stairs caused him to break
off with a low note of warning, and hardly had he resumed his seat
before she was sitting on the arm of the chair and rumpling his wavy
hair, as naturally as a child, or a sister.

Watching him closely, Ethel saw the veins begin to swell on the back of
his muscular hand, as his fingers gripped the other arm of the chair.
She sighed, and then a look of wondering distress came into her face as
the thought flashed unbidden through her mind, "I wonder if it is
possible that he made some unfortunate, entangling alliance in France,
after he heard from Marion? It isn't impossible. Men are often