His heart was filled with sudden wrath. Why need the girl be so brutal? He did not know that Diana had been goaded by Mrs. Eaton and Jacob until she was beyond reason; besides, his manner, which defied her, was like tossing the glove at her feet. He had no appreciation of her condescension, and he did not bear her flouting with meekness. Yet, all the while, his strength and his repose made him immeasurably more interesting than the young men of her acquaintance, which, of course, was another reason to be unreasonable. “I did not see you at the Wilton-Cheyneys,” she said agreeably, pressing the ferns against her cheek. “Quite naturally,” he replied coolly; “I was not asked.” “Oh!” There was a silence. The sweet soft twilight seemed to enfold them with a touch like velvet; a Bob White whistled once in the stillness. “Miss Royall.” She looked up with her soft little smile, but his face froze it on her lips. He looked stern and cold. “Yes?” she said, faintly startled. “Why do you say such things to me? You know that I’m not asked, that I’m an outsider. A poor Yankee shopkeeper, I believe your set calls me; I do not know. Certainly I do not care; a man must live, you know, even out of your class. I have a right to live. I also have a right to my own pride. I am a gentleman.” They stood looking at each other, the width of the woodland path between them, and that indefinable, impalpable thing which is neither sympathy nor antagonism but which, existing once between two souls, can, never be forgotten,--a white flame that burns at once through all barriers of misunderstanding, the divine spark of a love that is as far beyond commonplace passion as the soul is above the body that it must leave forever. The man felt it and bowed reluctantly before it; the girl struggled and resisted. “If I did not know that you were,” she said, as quietly as she could, “I would not be here talking to you now. I’m afraid you think me very ill mannered. The last was really thoughtlessness.” He looked at her relentlessly. “But the first?” She blushed scarlet. “I--I did not mean it.” His eyes still searched her, but there was no tenderness in them; they were cold and gray. “That is not quite true, Miss Royall.” Diana winced; she felt ten years old and knew it was her own fault. “I think it is you who are rude now,” she said, rallying, “but”--it choked her, she held out her hand--“let us be friends.” He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, “that can’t be until you are sure I am your equal. I’ve picked up crumbs long enough, Miss Royall,--forgive me.” She experienced a curious feeling of defeat, as her hand dropped at her side. She was angry, yet she admired him for it. She remembered that night when he brought the hateful six pennies and she had behaved disgracefully. Would he always put her in the wrong? “I am sorry,” she said haughtily; “I was offering you my friendship.” He smiled bitterly. “Were you, or mocking me with it?” “Mr. Trench!”