True, he did not know that it might be had for the asking, and Prescott, as he sat quietly for a few minutes after Frank had spoken, was thinking very deeply with himself whether he ought to tell his friend that he was sure that he was mistaken. He was interrupted by Frank’s saying irritably, “I wish to goodness, Prescott, you had never put such a notion into my head. I was comfortable and at home with Alice before, as I had no more idea of marrying her than I had of flying, and now I shall never get the idea out of my head. I wonder whether my uncle has ever thrown out any hints of his idea to Alice. I should not be surprised if he has. That would account for what I was saying about her being cold and stiff to me; naturally she supposes that I want to make love to her, and she tries as plainly as she can to show me that she will have nothing to say to me. I tell you what, Prescott, you and my uncle, with your plans and ideas, will end by making Alice and me hate each other.” Frank got up, and walked up and down the room, smoking his pipe in short puffs, with an air of extreme vexation. Prescott said nothing in reply. He was actually far more irritated and much more puzzled than Frank himself was, but he could show neither his irritation nor the conflict of thoughts and feelings which was agitating him. Presently Frank stopped and said, “There is only one thing in the world I do think would induce me to marry Alice.” “What is that, Frank?” Prescott asked, looking anxiously up at him. “I would marry her rather than that she should marry Fred Bingham. He is constantly there, and I think he is trying to make up to her.” “I do not think that he has any chance whatever,” Prescott said quietly; “but you were always an upholder of your cousin—what has changed your opinion of him?” “I don’t think that anything has changed it as far as I am concerned, Prescott,” Frank said, sitting down again; “you know he is not my sort of man. I believe just as much as I did that he is not a bad-hearted fellow—far from it; that is, I have no reason for believing otherwise. But you see I have been away for some time, and his cantankerous way comes upon me fresh. I never know whether he is making fun of me or not, and he does try my temper, which is, you know, none of the best, most amazingly. Although I know it is only prejudice, I own I do not like to see him hanging over Alice, turning over the leaves of her music for her, and that sort of thing; it makes me somehow feel cold and uncomfortable all over, and as I have said, rather than that he should marry her, I would save her from it by marrying her myself. Of course supposing that she would have me.”