"People don't generally try to keep themselves from falling in love," remarked Lawrence, with the air of a philosopher. "It's more apt to be the other way. They are generally trying to make some one else fall in love with them. That's the hard thing." "Is it?" Fanny smiled. "Perhaps it is," she added, after a pause. "I'd like to tell you something--" She hesitated and stopped. Lawrence looked at her, but did not speak, expecting her to go on. The silence continued for some time. Once or twice Fanny turned and met his eyes, and her lips moved as though she were just going to say something. She seemed to be in doubt. "I don't believe in friendship, and I don't believe in promises,--and I don't believe much in anything," she said at last, in magnificent generalization. "But I'd like to tell you, all the same. Do you mind?" "I won't repeat it if you do," said Lawrence, simply. "No--I don't believe you will. You see I haven't any friends, so I never tell things,--at least, not much. I don't believe much in telling, anyway. Do you?" "Not if you mean to keep a secret." "Oh--well--this isn't exactly a secret--only I don't want any one to know it. Yes, I know! You laugh because I'm going to tell you. But you're different, somehow--" "Am I?" "Oh yes,--you don't count!" Lawrence's face fell a little at this last remark, and there was silence again for a few moments. "I'm not sure that I'll tell you, after all," said Fanny, at last. The quiet lids were half closed over the grey eyes, and she seemed to be thinking out something. Lawrence was unconsciously wondering why he did not think the white lashes ugly, especially when she had just told him that he did not 'count.' "Are you sure you won't tell?" asked the young girl, after another long pause. "If you don't want me to, of course I won't," answered Lawrence, mechanically. "It's a sort of confession," said Fanny. "That's the reason why I don't like to tell you. It's cowardly to be afraid of confessing that one's been an idiot, so I am going to do it at once and get it over." "It's a startling confession!" laughed Lawrence, softly. "I don't believe it. Is that all?" "If you laugh at me, I won't tell you anything more. Then you'll be sorry." "Shall I?" "Yes." "All right! I'm serious now," said Lawrence. "Don't you want to smoke?" asked Fanny, suddenly. "I wish you would. I should be less--less nervous, you know." "What a curious idea! But I'll smoke if you like." He proceeded to fill and light a big brier-root pipe. "I like the smell of a pipe," said Fanny, watching the operation. "I'm so tired of the everlasting cigarette." "I'm ready," Lawrence said, puffing slowly into the still, hot air. "Are you sure you won't laugh at me? Well, I'll tell you. I liked Mr. Brinsley awfully--at first." Lawrence looked at her quickly and took his pipe from his mouth.