Fan then remembered something which she imagined might throw some light on this dark subject. “I know,” she said, “that she always prefers men to women for friends. I have heard her say that she hates women.” Constance laughed again. “She does not hate herself--that is impossible; and that she did not hate you, Fan, is very evident. Don't you think that, intimate as you were with Miss Starbrow, you did not always quite understand her way of speaking, that you took her words too literally? You know now that she did not really mean it when she spoke of hating women, and perhaps she did not really mean what she said about your being unable to love more than one person.” “Yes; I think you are right. I know that she does not always mean what she says. I am sure you are right.” “And will you be my friend then, and love me a little?” “You know that I love you dearly, and it makes me so happy to think that we are friends. But tell me, dear Miss Churton--” “If we are really friends now you must call me Constance.” “Oh, I shall like that best. Dear Constance, do you think when I write to Mary that I must tell her all we have talked about?” “No,” said the other, after a moment's reflection. “It is not necessary, and would not be fair to me, as we have been speaking about her. But you must be just as open about everything, as I suppose it is your nature to be, and conceal nothing about your feelings towards others. I do not think for a moment that you will offend her by being good friends with your teacher.” That assurance and advice removed the last shadow of anxiety from Fan's mind, and after some more conversation they returned home, both feeling very much happier than when they had started for this eventful walk. CHAPTER XXII