Mary made no reply, but sat looking at him while she twisted her fingers nervously before her. "May I ask one question, Cuthbert?" "Yes, if you like, but I don't promise to answer it?" "Do you think that there is any blame attached to my father?" Cuthbert was startled. He had certainly not expected this question. "What on earth should put that idea into your head, Mary?" "I don't know," she replied, "but it has always struck me as so strange that he should not have prevented Mr. Hartington from buying those shares. I don't know much of business, but I have thought a great deal about it, and it has always seemed a strange affair to me, and I have worried a great deal over it since he bought the house. That is one reason why I hate going there." "Perhaps your father was not quite so prudent in the matter as he might have been, Mary," Cuthbert said, trying to speak lightly, though he found it difficult to do so with the girl's earnest eyes fixed on him, "but even of that I am not sure. Now, suppose we change the subject again--it seems that we are to hit on difficult subjects this morning. The gates will probably be opened, at any rate to the foreigners, in a day or two. Are you thinking of going home to prepare yourself for taking up your vocation as a nurse?" "Not yet," she replied, "there is no hurry for that, and it will be some time before the country is settled." "You are sure that you have not changed your mind again?" "No, why should I?" "I thought perhaps you might have done so, and might possibly be inclined towards the vocation you so scornfully repudiated when I suggested it before. I intended to ask you yesterday, but it would not have been fair when you were so weak and shaken." The girl had glanced at him and had then flushed hotly. "I don't know--I am not sure--what you mean." "And I am sure that you know very well, Mary, that I mean the vocation of taking care of me, which you repudiated with scorn--in fact refused to entertain it seriously at all. Of course there may have been other grounds, but the one you laid stress on was that I was lazy and purposeless, and that if you ever did take up such a vocation it would be to take care of some one you could respect. I don't say for an instant that I approach to that altitude, but at least I may say I am no longer an idler, that I have worked hard, and that I have every hope of success. You see, too, that I want you more than I did then. I am a poor artist and not the heir to a good estate. But as you are fond of sacrificing yourself, that may not be altogether an objection. At any rate, dear, I think I shall be able to keep you comfortably. I am not sure I should ever have mustered up courage enough to have spoken on this subject again, had it not been for yesterday. But that gave me a little hope that you really had come to care about me a little, and that possibly you might be willing to change your plans again in my favor."