She was still looking down at the fan and that little foot was moving nervously. Now was my time. I began framing an avowal. I felt a wild impulse to throw my strong arms about her and draw her close to me and feel the pink velvet of her fair face upon mine. If I had only done it! But what with the strangeness and grandeur of that big room, the voices of the others who were sitting in the library, near by, the mystery of the spreading crinoline that was pressing upon my knees, I had not half the courage of a lover. 'My friend writes me that you are in love,' she said, opening her fan and moving it slowly, as she looked up at me. 'She is right I must confess it,' I said, 'I am madly, hopelessly in love. It is time you knew it Hope and I want your counsel. She rose quickly and turned her face away. 'Do not tell me--do not speak of it again--I forbid you,' she answered coldly. Then she stood silent. I rose to take her hand and ask her to tell me why, a pretty rankling in my heart, Soft footsteps and the swish of a gown were approaching. Before I could speak Mrs Fuller had come through the doorway. 'Come Hope,' she said, 'I cannot let you sit up late--you are worn out, my dear. Then Hope bade us both good-night and went away to her room. If I had known as much about women then, as now, I should have had it out, with short delay, to some understanding between us. But in that subject one loves and learns. And one thing I have learned is this, that jealousy throws its illusions on every word and look and act. I went to my room and sat down for a bit of reckoning. Hope had ceased to love me, I felt sure, and how was I to win her back? After all my castle building what was I come to? I heard my door open presently, and then I lifted my head. Uncle Eb stood near me in his stocking feet and shirt-sleeves. 'In trouble,' he whispered. 'In trouble,' I said. ''Bout Hope?' 'It's about Hope.' 'Don't be hasty. Hope'll never go back on you,' he whispered. 'She doesn't love me,' I said impulsively. 'She doesn't care the snap of her finger for me. 'Don't believe it,' he answered calmly. 'Not a single word of it. Thet woman--she's tryin' t' keep her away from ye--but 'twon't make no differ'nce. Not a bit. 'I must try to win her back--someway--somehow,' I whispered. 'Gi n ye the mitten?' he asked. 'That's about it,' I answered, going possibly too far in the depth of my feeling. 'Whew w!' he softly whistled. 'Wall, it takes two mittens t'make a pair--ye'll hev t'ask her ag in. 'Yes I cannot give her up,' I said decisively, 'I must try to win her back. It isn't fair. I have no claim upon her. But I must do it. 'Consarn it! women like t'be chased,' he said. 'It's their natur'. What do they fix up so fer--di'mon's an' silks an' satins--if 'tain't t'set men a chasm 'uv 'em? You'd otter enjoy it. Stick to her--jes' like a puppy to a root. Thet's my advice.'