There was no answer, for, standing erect before him, Miss Muir regarded him with an expression of proud patience, like one who expected reproaches, yet was too generous to resent them. Her manner had its effect. Dropping his bitter tone, Coventry asked briefly, “Why do you show me this? What can I do?” “I show it that you may see how much in earnest ‘the boy’ is, and how open I desire to be. You can control, advise, and comfort your brother, and help me to see what is my duty.” “You love him?” demanded Coventry bluntly. “No!” was the quick, decided answer. “Then why make him love you?” “I never tried to do it. Your sister will testify that I have endeavored to avoid him as I--” And he finished the sentence with an unconscious tone of pique, “As you have avoided me.” She bowed silently, and he went on: “I will do you the justice to say that nothing can be more blameless than your conduct toward myself; but why allow Ned to haunt you evening after evening? What could you expect of a romantic boy who had nothing to do but lose his heart to the first attractive woman he met?” A momentary glisten shone in Jean Muir’s steel-blue eyes as the last words left the young man’s lips; but it was gone instantly, and her voice was full of reproach, as she said, steadily, impulsively, “If the ‘romantic boy’ had been allowed to lead the life of a man, as he longed to do, he would have had no time to lose his heart to the first sorrowful girl whom he pitied. Mr. Coventry, the fault is yours. Do not blame your brother, but generously own your mistake and retrieve it in the speediest, kindest manner.” For an instant Gerald sat dumb. Never since his father died had anyone reproved him; seldom in his life had he been blamed. It was a new experience, and the very novelty added to the effect. He saw his fault, regretted it, and admired the brave sincerity of the girl in telling him of it. But he did not know how to deal with the case, and was forced to confess not only past negligence but present incapacity. He was as honorable as he was proud, and with an effort he said frankly, “You are right, Miss Muir. I _am_ to blame, yet as soon as I saw the danger, I tried to avert it. My visit to town was on Ned’s account; he will have his commission very soon, and then he will be sent out of harm’s way. Can I do more?” “No, it is too late to send him away with a free and happy heart. He must bear his pain as he can, and it may help to make a man of him,” she said sadly. “He’ll soon forget,” began Coventry, who found the thought of gay Ned suffering an uncomfortable one. “Yes, thank heaven, that is possible, for men.”