“It is no wonder I fell in love with him, he is so handsome, so noble, so gifted! One could love him just from reading his books,” she said, sadly, yet with a thrilling consciousness of Norman’s dark, magnetic eyes. “But with him it is different. He could never think of loving me. Besides, he can have no faith in women. The Hintons have told me that he was separated from his wife because she was false to him. Is that why he looks so grave and sad, I wonder? Perhaps he loved her so well that he can never love another, now that she is dead.” A sudden pity filled her heart for the man whose life had been so cruelly wrecked by a woman’s falsity. “I wish I could comfort him. I wish I were really his little sister.” She resolved suddenly that she would not disappoint Norman de Vere, who had been so kind to her, who had asked her not to be afraid of him, but to give him the confidence of a sister. “I will fight down this too warm love of mine. It will soon die with no hope to feed on,” she decided. “I will be a sister to him in truth. It is possible I might be a comfort to him in that way.” Drooping her face into her white hands, Thea prayed dumbly for strength and patience--strength to hide her secret of love from Norman de Vere, and patience to fall into her place as his sister--only his sister, without daring to hope for anything sweeter or better. “If I can repay him for his goodness to me by any sacrifice of self, that happy consciousness shall be sufficient for me,” she vowed; and a sort of pride came to her that she was conquering so nobly this fatal passion that had stolen upon her unawares. But she needed all her strength to meet Norman’s questioning gaze when she met him again. He had been puzzled by her sudden faintness and her abrupt departure from the library. Had she been offended by the interest he had displayed in her? Had she fancied he was falling in love with her like the rest, and so taken this means to express her disapprobation? He turned hot and cold at the thought. “It was most imprudent in me offering her that caress,” he thought. “I had no right. I can not tell what came over me. I could not resist the impulse, she was so sweet, so charming, and only a child as compared with me. Yes, she is only a child to me. If she were more nearly my equal in age, I should be frightened, fearing it was love I felt for the beautiful little coquette.” And when he again met Thea he looked at her with some anxiety. It was in the drawing-room, just before dinner. Thea never dallied over her toilet. She came in, as usual, before Mrs. de Vere, and she found Norman waiting and pretending to be engrossed with a new book. He looked up eagerly at the entrance of the blue-robed figure, and their eyes met. Thea smiled as she accepted the chair he placed for her, and said: “I hope you will excuse me for leaving you so abruptly this morning. I had a sudden faintness, and was obliged to seek the fresh air.”