He hesitated. She repeated the question. "You had better not ask for particulars, for they can only give you pain." "I can bear pain." "Yes," he said, glancing at her hand, "such pain as that; but there are other and worse pangs, and from those, Bice, I shall always endeavour to shield you. Clive has been doing his utmost to ruin himself and make you all miserable; I am trying to save him. It is a hard task, and unless you trust me and follow my directions, I tell you honestly that I have no chance of success." "You threaten us with shadows," said the girl moodily. "Oh, Bice," he said--and his voice became yet softer and more slow--"you are not yourself to-day. What has changed you? I have often found you hasty, wilful, unreasonable, but never before ungenerous. Is it I that threaten? Is it not rather I that at any cost am trying to keep the danger a shadow? Once let me remove my hand, and it will be real and tangible enough--" She could not endure such a reproach; it seemed horrible to her, and also true. She stretched out her hand to him with a quick gesture of kindness. "You have been our very good friend, I know, Oliver," she said, looking at him gratefully, "and I ought to be content and not tease you. Only tell me, is it absolutely necessary there should be this secrecy?" "Absolutely. I am obliged to use the greatest caution." "Out here, how would it be possible for us to interfere with any plans?" He began to be vexed with her unusual importunity, but allowed no trace of his vexation to appear in his face or voice. On the contrary, he said with a smile, "Excuse me; if there were no other way, I should feel by no means certain what you and Kitty might not write to Clive. No. Complete ignorance is the safest state of things for you; for of one thing I am sure, nature never intended either of you for a conspirator." Bice turned and looked at him thoughtfully. He felt uneasy, for her eyes seemed to be asking whether it was for that he was intended. He said more abruptly than he had yet spoken-- "Do you not care any longer that Clive should be saved?" "Do I not care!" The sudden fire which leapt into her eyes answered him. He had at last touched the right string. "You have considered it thoroughly?" he said, speaking deliberately again. "I particularly desire that you should do so. If this act of Clive's is brought home to him, it means dishonour and disgrace; I cannot hide it from you. Your mother is very fond of Clive, she will never hold up her head again. As for Kitty, you know best whether she will care or not. It may not be so bad for you, it is true, because you bear another name." Bice interrupted him in a low passionate voice. "You shall not say that!"