wise and very careful for such a pretty,
pleasure-loving girl. There had been something in Gilbert Vane's eyes
that told the story, and she understood now what it was: the sweetest
and noblest story a man can tell a woman, but a woman may not always be
ready to hear it, and now some curious knowledge had come to
Primrose--she would never be ready to hear this.

She had threaded her way skillfully through every turning, she had
jested and parried until she was amazed at her own resources. The last
morning Madam Wetherill was suddenly called down to the office about the
transfer of some property, and she had not been gone ten minutes when
Captain Vane was announced.

He was very disappointed not to see madam--of course. Primrose was shy
and looked like a bird about to fly somewhere, but so utterly bewitching
that his whole heart went out to her.

"Oh, you sweetest, dearest Primrose!" he cried, and caught her hand in
such a clasp that she could not pull it away. "I love you, love you! and
yet I have no business to say it, a soldier of fortune, who has nothing
now but his sword, and his patriotism for the country of his
adoption--all his fortune yet to make. But it will not hurt you, dear,
to know that a man loves you with his whole soul and hopes
for--nothing."

But his wistful eyes told another story.

"Oh, why did you say it?" she cried, full of regret.

"Because I could not help it. Oh, I know it is useless, and yet I would
give half a lifetime--nay, all of it--for a year or two of such bliss as
Phil is having, to hold you in my arms, to call you my wife, my dear
wife," and his tone thrilled her with exquisite pain, but something akin
to pleasure as well. "Primrose, you are the sweetest flower of the
world, but it could never be--never; tell me so, darling. Much as it
pains you, say 'no.' For if you do not I shall always dream. And I am a
soldier and can meet my fate."

He dropped her hand and stood before her straight, strong, and proud;
entreaty written in every line of his face. She covered hers with her
hands to shut out the sight and tried vainly to find her voice.

"Nay, dear," he took the hands down tenderly and saw tears and blushes,
but not the look he wanted. "That was cruel, unmanly. If it were 'yes'
there would be no tears, and so I am answered. It is not your fault. You
have a grander, nobler lover than I. But it has been sweet to love you.
From almost the first I have loved you, when you were a li