“Do not be proud to me, Ronald. Remember, we played together as children. Do you think, after all these years, you could have a pain I did not feel, or a happiness I did not share with you?” Her beautiful eyes were bright with tears as she spoke; he hurriedly clasped her hand. “God bless you, Clarice! you are very kind, but I cannot bear it.” And then he galloped hastily away. CHAPTER XVI. “THE ALDEN PRIDE.” Time did not bring comfort to Sir Ronald Alden; the blow he had received was too heavy and too cruel. He felt not only annoyed, but aggrieved, that Clarice knew his secret. “Lady Hermione must have said something to her about it. Most probably all young ladies boast to each other how many men they cause to suffer; yet one would have thought her as far above that kind of feeling as the clouds are above the earth.” It was some relief to him to know that no one else appeared to guess the story. The “Alden pride” was strong in him. It was hard enough to bear; it would have been doubly hard if the world had known it. Lord and Lady Lorriston continued for some time to send him invitations, to wonder that he did not call, to express that wonder to him. It so happened that an eminent writer paid a visit to Leeholme, one whose acquaintance all men were proud and honored to make. Lord Lorriston immediately issued invitations for a large dinner party. “I consider myself a public benefactor,” he said, laughingly, “in giving men the opportunity of seeing that great genius of the age. Perhaps I have been mistaken over Sir Ronald. Send him cards; he will be sure to come.” But, to his surprise, among all the letters of acceptance was a note from Sir Ronald, short and cold, declining, with thanks, the invitation, but giving no reason why. Lord Lorriston handed it to his wife. They were at breakfast, and Lady Hermione, usually silent and grave, was with them. “Sir Ronald declines, you see. What can be the matter with him? I have known him ever since he was a child, and he chooses to treat me with distant, scant courtesy. I cannot understand it.” Suddenly an idea seemed to occur to him. “Hermione,” he said, “have you given Sir Ronald any cause for his strange conduct?” She blushed crimson, and turned her face, lest he should read something she did not wish him to see. “I do not know that I have given him any cause of offense,” she replied. Lord Lorriston looked earnestly at his daughter, then said no more. “I am very sorry,” said Lady Hermione. “There is no one I like better than Sir Ronald.” Lord Lorriston did not make any further attempt at continuing the friendship of Sir Ronald. “He evidently avoids me--wishes to cease all acquaintance--he has his reasons for it, even though I know nothing at all about them.” And so, in course of time, the acquaintance gradually died out.