"No," Darrell answered, slowly; "I cannot say that my regard for her has decreased. I may have changed in some respects, but not in my feelings towards Marion. I will ask you a question, mother: Do you think she still cares for me as before I left home?" "I hardly know how to answer you, because, as you know, Marion is so silent and secretive. I never could understand the girl. To be candid, Darrell dear, I never could understand why you should care for her, and I never thought she cared for you as she ought." "You know, mother, how I came to be attracted to her in the first place; we were schoolmates, and you know she was an exceptionally brilliant girl, and different from most of the others. We were interested in the same subjects, and naturally there sprang up quite an intimacy between us. Then we corresponded while I was at college, and her letters were so bright and entertaining that my admiration for her increased. I thought her the most brilliant and the best girl, every way, in all my acquaintance, and I think so still." "But, my dear boy," his mother exclaimed, "admiration is not love; I don't believe you ever really loved her, and she always seemed to me to be all brains and no heart--one of those cold, silent natures incapable of loving." "I think you are wrong there, mother. Marion is silent, but I don't believe she is cold or incapable of loving. She may, or may not, be incapable of expressing it, but I believe she could love very deeply and sincerely were her love once awakened." "You know she has taken up the study of medicine?" "Ned Elliott told me she had been studying with Dr. Parker for about a year." "Dr. Parker tells me she is making remarkable progress." "I don't doubt it, mother; she will probably make a success of it; she is just the woman to do so." "There never was any mention of love between you two, was there, or any engagement?" Darrell's mother asked, with some hesitation, after a brief silence. "None whatever," he replied, then added, with a smile: "We considered ourselves in love at the time,--at least, I did; but as I look back now it seems a very Platonic affair; but I thought I loved her, and I think she loved me." "You say, Darrell, that your regard for her is unchanged?" "Yes; the same as ever." "But you do not think now that you love her or loved her then?" "No, mother; I know I do not, and did not." "Then, Darrell, my boy, some one else has taught you what love really is?" For answer Darrell bowed his head in assent over his mother's hand. For a few moments she silently stroked his hair as in his boyish days; then she said, in low tones,-- "Answer me one question, Darrell: Was she a good, pure woman?" Darrell raised his head, his eyes looking straight into the searching dark eyes, so like his own.