He sat down by her on the low garden-seat, and there was silence for a minute between them. The southern air was soft and balmy, although it was January, and some long-stemmed roses nodded on tall bushes behind them, making a fitting background for her delicate, spirited beauty. Finding that he did not speak, she said: “Your mother is well, I hope?” “Quite well. She sent her love.” “You must give her mine in return. Does she miss me?” “She did not say.” CHAPTER XL. Thea glanced anxiously at her guardian. He did not seem inclined to talk. Had she offended him by her boldness in asking him to stay longer with her when he was doubtless anxious to go to Miss Bentley? The color flamed hotly into her cheeks. “I--I--perhaps I am detaining you. Do not stay unless you wish,” she said, timidly. “I am not in any hurry,” he answered, smiling down at her a grave, sweet smile that made her heart go pit-a-pat with pleasure. “Perhaps you wanted to ask me how I liked your poetry?” he said. “Oh, no, no; I--I don’t want to hear. I knew it was nothing but trash. I’m sorry I let you see it!” the girl cried, depreciatingly. “You should not say that. I found it very readable,” he answered. “Thank you; but of course you say that out of kindness,” dimpling pensively. “No; I mean it. I enjoyed reading some of the pretty trifles. You have decided poetical talent, still I was glad to find that you were not a genius.” “Glad? Why?” reproachfully, with downcast eyes and a quivering lip. “I should not like to see you aspiring to a literary career, with its heartaches and disappointments alternating with feverish triumphs. Woman should belong to the sweet fire-side of home, not to the critical public.” The blue eyes dilated widely. “You embraced a literary career,” she said. “Yes, but it was for bread, not for fame.” “But you are rich.” “I have earned it all by my pen,” he answered; and again the violet eyes dilated widely. “I did not know that--I thought you were always rich--that is, the Hintons said your wife was wealthy.” It was the first time her pure young lips had ever referred to the wicked woman who had wrecked his life. She saw a burning flush creep up to his forehead, then fade into pallor. “Oh, forgive me, I--I--spoke thoughtlessly,” faltered the girl. “It does not matter. They told you the truth. I married a rich woman, but when we parted, her money went with her. I had to work for my mother.” “And for me,” she said, very softly. “No--not but that I should have been glad to do it, but my mother had a small income of her own. She insisted on dividing it with you.” “I must love her more for her generosity,” Thea cried. “And me less since you know that you owe me no obligation,” he said, coldly. “You saved my life,” she answered, in a whisper so freighted with feeling that he could not reply to her. It was not gratitude he wanted, it was love. Yet he could not tell her so. He was only her elderly guardian.