lmost afraid to trench
on this suspicious ground.

"Can you not? Then I give the young man credit for a degree of prudence
I was fearful he did not possess."

"Oh," he says, with a curious sense of relief, "you mean--my brother?"

"Floyd," in a low, confidential tone, and she so rarely gives him his
Christian name that he is struck with her beautiful utterance of it, "I
want you to do me this justice at least, to let me stand higher in your
estimation than that of a mere silly coquette, who makes a bid for the
admiration of men in general. There was a time when it might have
turned my head a little, but then I had no _general_ admiration to
tempt me. I have been friendly with Eugene, as any woman so much older
might be, and the regard he has for me is not love at all, but just now
he cannot see the difference. He feels bitter because he cannot have
matters as he fancies he would like, and in a few years he will be most
grateful for the cruelty, as he calls it."

"Oh," Floyd says, with a sense of shame, "he certainly has not been
foolish enough to----"

"You surely do not think I would allow him to make an idiot of
himself!" she replies, with an almost stinging disdain. "I should not
want him to remember that of me. One may make a mistake in youth, or
commit an error, but with added years there would be small excuse. I
had a truer regard for him, as well as myself. It was wiser to quench
the flame before it reached that height," and she smiles with a sense
of approval. "So if you see us at sword's points, you will know that
the disease has reached the crisis, and you may reasonably expect an
improvement. Indeed, it is time he turned his attention to other
matters. Shall you be able to make a business man of him?"

"I am afraid not," replies Floyd Grandon.

"Now that I have confessed, I feel quite free," she begins, in a tone
of relief. "I wanted the matter settled before I came up here, and I
did want to keep your good opinion, if indeed you have a good opinion
of me."

Something in her voice touches his very soul. It is entreating,
penitent, yet loftily proud. It says, "I can do without your approval,
since I may have forfeited it in some way, yet I would rather have it.
You are free to give or to withhold."

"I think," he says, steadily, "this is not the first time you have
acted sensibly. I wonder if I shall offend you by a reference to those
old days when we both made a mistake. Time has shown us the wisdo