“Now, that is perfectly delightful,” cried the young man. “You throw a person down into the depths, so that he will appreciate all the more being brought up into the light again.” “Oh, not at all. I have no such dramatic ideas in speaking frankly with you. I merely mean that this forenoon I wish to have to myself, because I am interested in my book. At the end of the forenoon I shall probably be tired of my book and will prefer a talk with you. I don’t see why you should think it odd that a person should say exactly what a person means.” “And then I suppose in the evening you will be tired of talking with me, and will want to take up your book again.” “Possibly.” “And if you are, you won’t hesitate a moment about saying so?” “Certainly not.” “Well, you are a decidedly frank young lady, Miss Earle; and, after all, I don’t know but what I like that sort of thing best. I think if all the world were honest we would all have a better time of it here.” “Do you really think so?” “Yes, I do.” “You believe in honesty, then?” “Why, certainly. Have you seen anything in my conduct or bearing that would induce you to think that I did not believe in honesty?” “No, I can’t say I have. Still, honesty is such a rare quality that a person naturally is surprised when one comes unexpectedly upon it.” George Morris found the forenoon rather tedious and lonesome. He sat in the smoking room, and once or twice he ventured near where Miss Earle sat engrossed in her book, in the hope that the volume might have been put aside for the time, and that he would have some excuse for sitting down and talking with her. Once as he passed she looked up with a bright smile and nodded to him. “Nearly through?” he asked dolefully. “Of _The Siege of London_?” she asked. “Yes.” “Oh, I am through that long ago, and have begun another story.” “Now, that is not according to contract,” claimed Morris. “The contract was that when you got through with _The Siege of London_ you were to let me talk with you, and that you were to tell me the story.” “That was not my interpretation of it. Our bargain, as I understood it, was that I was to have this forenoon to myself, and that I was to use the forenoon for reading. I believe my engagement with you began in the afternoon.” “I wish it did,” said the young man, with a wistful look. “You wish what?” she said, glancing up at him sharply. He blushed as he bent over towards her and whispered, “That our engagement, Miss Katherine, began in the afternoon.” The colour mounted rapidly into her cheeks, and for a moment George Morris thought he had gone too far. It seemed as if a sharp reply was ready on her lips; but, as on another occasion, she checked it and said nothing. Then she opened her book and began to read. He waited for a moment and said— “Miss Earle, have I offended you?” “Did you mean to give offence?” she asked. “No, certainly, I did not.” “Then why should you think you had offended me?”