ly. "I suppose you will
think me awfully matter-of-fact. I love Mary as my sister, I have the
strongest esteem and affection for Henry as my brother-in-law, and I
like you for just what you are to me, neither more nor less. The truth
is, Graydon, when I woke up from my old limp, shadowy life I had to
look at everything just as it was, and I have formed the habit of so
doing. I think it is the best way. You did not see Miss Wildmere as
she was, but as you imagined her to be, and you blame yourself too
severely because you acted as you naturally would toward a girl for
whom you had so high a regard. When we stick to the actual, we escape
mistakes and embarrassment. Every one knows that we are not brother
and sister; every one would admit our right to be very good friends.
I have listened to you with the deep and honest sympathy that is
perfectly natural to our relations. I think the better of you for
what you have told me, but I'm too dreadfully matter-of-fact," she
concluded beginning to laugh, "to do anything more."

He sighed deeply.

"Now, there is no occasion for that sigh, Graydon. Recall that morning
drive to which you have alluded. What franker, truer friendship could
you ask than I gave evidence of then? Come now, be sensible. You
live too much in the present moment, and yield to your impulses. Miss
Wildmere was a delusion and a snare, but there are plenty of true
women in the world. Some day you will meet the right one. She won't
object to your friends, but she probably would to sisters who are not
sisters."

Graydon laughed a little bitterly as he said, "So you imagine that
after my recent experience I shall soon be making love to another
girl?"

"Why not? Because Miss Wildmere is a fraud do you intend to spite
yourself by letting some fair, true girl pass by unheeded? That might
be to permit the fraud to injure you almost as much as if she had
married you."

He burst out laughing, as he exclaimed, "Well, your head is level."

"Certainly it is. My head is all right, even though I have not much
heart, as you believe. I told you I could be a good fellow, and I
don't propose to indulge you in sentiment about what is past and
gone--natural and true as it was at the time--or in cynicism for the
future. I shall dance at your wedding, and you won't be gray, either.
Come; the music has ceased, and it must be almost Sunday morning."

"Very well. On the day when you rightly boxed my ears, and I asked you
to mak