She was striving hard to make him forget the opening part of their interview, and to send him away with a feeling of contentment in the belief that she was happy, so that he might go on with his great work undisturbed by any anxiety on her account. She felt that it was a great work, and that she must do everything in her power to lift the bars to its accomplishment out of the way. He had shown himself in two characters to-night—the loving, light-hearted boy and—when he stood up with that thoughtful face which reminded her of his father—the earnest and sharpsighted man. She was not clear as to which side of his character she liked most; but they were both hers, and it was a relief to feel that if trial came to them, he could be resolute and considerate. So she did her best to hide the fatigue which worry had brought upon her; and for a time she was completely successful. Suddenly he jumped up. ‘How stupid I am, Madge!’ he exclaimed in irritation with himself. ‘What is the matter now?’ ‘You—why, you are as tired as can be, and ought to have been off to bed long ago. I began by trying to get you to think of something pleasant, so as to drive off the blue fit that was on you, and then in my own enjoyment forgot how weary you must be. I am going away at once.’ She relieved him with a laugh; it was a delight to feel that they had been both inspired by the same good thought. ‘I am glad you did not go sooner, Philip,’ she said, standing up, her hands clasped round his neck. ‘Do you know that, to-night, you have made me feel what I thought was impossible?’ ‘That must be worth knowing. What is it?’ ‘That I care more for you than ever,’ she whispered, as she rested her brow on his shoulder. A pause, as his arms tightened round her—his heart in his throat. Then, as people do in accepting the greatest benefactions, trying to hide with a laugh what they, from the hard teachings of stoic philosophers, have come to regard as the foolish weakness of tears of joy. ‘I was not sure for a minute whether to be glad or sorry for that, Madge. But of course it is right. What is it Othello says—or wishes? Something about love growing as years go on. That’s how it will be with us.’ ‘I think so—I believe so. But you must not quote Othello. He killed his love because he had no true faith in it.’ ‘But then he was a nigger, and I am not. All right. I won’t mention the gentleman again. I shall be here to-morrow.’ ‘Very well. Go to Uncle Dick now and help him in my place. He has some papers to fill up, and I intended to do them to-night. He will be disappointed if they are not done.’ ‘Now, there is a real good girl,’ said Philip, delighted. ‘I like you best when you are asking me to do something for you.’ * * * * *