he last people in the world to feel anything of the kind. Every one
knows that you're a set of ruthless, predatory--"

"I know that's the way it seems; and I'm not defending anything that may
be wrong. And yet, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, we
_have_ a sense of brotherhood--I don't know any other name for it--among
ourselves which isn't to be found anywhere else in the world. You
English haven't got it. That's why the thing I'm saying seems mere
sentiment to you, and even mawkish. You're so afraid of sentiment. But
it's true. It may be only a rudimentary sense of brotherhood; and it's
certainly not universal, as it ought to be, because we feel it only
among ourselves. We don't really include the foreigner--not at least
till he becomes one of us. I'm an instance of that limitation myself,
because I can't feel it toward you, and I do--"

"You do feel it toward the big chap," he said, scornfully.

She made a renewed effort to explain herself. "You see, it's something
like this. If my aunt de Melcourt, who's very well off, were to come
forward and help us, I'd let her do it without scruple. Not that there's
any particular reason why she should! But if she did--well, you can see
for yourself that it wouldn't be as if she were a stranger."

"Of course! She's one of your own people--and all that."

"Well, he's one of our own people--Mr. Davenant. Not to the degree that
she is--but the same sort of thing--even if more distant. It's very
distant, I admit--"

His lip curled. "So distant as to be out of sight."

"No; not for him--or for me."

He sprang to his feet. "Look here, Olivia," he cried, nervously, holding
his chair by the back, "what does it all mean? What are you leading up
to?"

"I'm telling you as plainly as I can."

"What you aren't telling me as plainly as you can is which of us you're
in love with."

She colored. It was one of those blushes that spread up the temples and
over the brows and along the line of the hair with the splendor of a
stormy dawn.

"I didn't know the question had been raised," she said, "but since
apparently it has--"

It might have been contrition for a foolish speech, or fear of what she
was going to say, that prompted him to interrupt her hurriedly:

"I beg your pardon. It was idiotic of me to say that. I didn't mean it.
As a matter of fact, I'm jumpy. I'm not master of myself. So much has
been happening--"

He came round the table, and, snatching one of her