"Not with me." He came around so that he could look into her face. "Would you be afraid with me?" She knew that she would not. She had not been afraid in the storm. But these things were not to be told. She did not meet his eyes, but shook her head. He was struck by her troubled look. "Tired--little sister?" he asked. Her lips quivered. "Very tired." His heart yearned over her. She seemed such a little thing in that stately room with its high ceilings, its massive furniture, its book-lined walls. The only light came from the fire, and from a silver lamp which hung over Diana's desk. On the table near Bettina was a bowl of pink hyacinths, which filled the room with the fresh fragrance of spring. He was conscious of these things, however, only as a setting for her beauty. And he was more than ever conscious of his desire to place himself between her and the world which might hurt her. "Let me help you," he said, earnestly. "Don't you know that my only desire is to serve you?" She considered him, wistfully. "It's dear of you to say that." He sat down, leaning toward her. "It isn't dear of me. It isn't even good of me. It's simply self-preservation. Don't you know, can't you see that I have only one thought--your happiness; only one wish--to be always near you?" There was no mistaking the significance of his flaming words. She shrank back. "Oh, you must not say such things." "Why not?" "Because. Oh, you called yourself my friend." "I am more than that," he said, steadily. "I am your lover." "Please--oh, please." She began to sob like a little child. "Oh, big brother," she told him, "you have spoiled everything." He knelt beside her chair. "How have I spoiled things?" "I wanted you for my friend." "I am your friend, dear one." Very still and pale she fought against the sweetness of the truth he was forcing upon her. "Please--go away," she whispered. He rose to his feet. "I shall not give you up." She rose also, a frail little thing in her floating draperies, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. "There are things which I cannot tell you. But I need a friend. If you care for me you'll let me be your--little sister; you won't trouble me by saying such things as you have said--to-night." He tried with all the strength of his young manhood to hide his own hurt and meet her need. "I could kill myself for making you cry. I'm going to be good now. Really and truly your good big brother." She glanced up at him with charming shyness. "I'll forget the things that you have said to-night--if you won't say them again." "I shall not tie myself to an impossible promise," he repeated, "but I am going to tie you to a promise." "Me?" She faced him.