“She has everything in her favor--wealth, family, culture, even age--for she is twenty-five, Nell says--while I, nameless, penniless, scarcely more than a child, have nothing but beauty and innocence on my side. Yet I love him with the true heart of a woman, and I can not content myself with that farce of sisterhood. Let it be all or nothing!” If she chose to be wandering through the grounds that morning, no one could blame her, for she knew perfectly well that Miss Bentley would monopolize him when he entered the house. But when she saw him dismount from the beautiful bay horse, fling the reins to a servant, and enter, a sudden shyness seized upon Thea, and she fled from the path down a secluded rose alley to a seat, with a wildly beating heart. “It looked too much as if I were waiting for him. He would deem me forward,” she thought. But Norman de Vere had caught the flutter of a white wool dress and golden curls. He followed where they led. There was Thea palpitating on a garden-seat, looking adorable in a white cashmere dress trimmed in black velvet, a big black hat with nodding white plumes on her head, a bunch of roses at her waist. She rose to her feet with a guilty blush. Oh, would he suspect that she had come here to waylay him? would he think her bold and unmaidenly? “Why did you run out of the path when you saw me coming?” he cried. “Didn’t you care to see me, little sister?” He had caught both her hands in his after his usual fashion, looking eagerly into the charming face. She tossed her head with a petulant motion. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that!” she cried. “That--what?” “Sister. It isn’t true, you know, and I--I--would not care to have it so. I never cared about brothers, anyway. Emmie’s brothers were not so nice to her, I’m sure. They liked other boys’ sisters best. Please, I don’t want to offend you, Mr. de Vere, but I’d rather be your little friend.” He dropped the little hands and frowned. “Very well, Thea,” he said, stiffly, displeasedly, not at all comprehending her eagerness to remove the least hint of a fraternal relation in her yearning to be more. “Thea! You never called me that before. I--I like the old name best--from you,” she pleaded, with a swift, upward glance that made his heart beat madly. “Little coquette! She will not even spare her elderly guardian,” he thought, half bitterly, then aloud: “Sweetheart, you seem in a capricious mood to-day. Why are you here alone? Where are all your lovers?” “I was tired of everybody. I stole out to be alone.” “And I am intruding on you. I beg your pardon. I will go,” turning from her hastily. “Oh, please don’t!” She put an entreating little hand on his coat-sleeve, and he turned back. “If you are not in a hurry, please stay awhile and tell me how dear Mrs. de Vere is. Miss Bentley would not give me a chance to ask you yesterday,” she said, sweetly.