The whole interview had passed so rapidly that Ralph felt thoroughly confused. Frank had left him no time to reply to his extraordinary outburst, and indeed, had he done so, Ralph would hardly have known what to say. He did not feel angry, and would have been ready enough to apologise for however unintentionally, hurt or annoyed his hot-blooded companion: though really it was difficult to see in what way he had done so! As he walked on slowly his thoughts began gradually to emerge from their bewilderment, and to take the only form by which it appeared to him that the riddle could be explained. Frank was ashamed of himself! He had gone too far with Miss Freer, and at the last had dishonourably withdrawn. No wonder the mention of this report put him in a passion. No wonder indeed. Ralph ground his teeth, as for one passing moment he wished he were Marion’s brother. This explained it all. Her altered looks, her variable spirits, her painful agitation at the mention if Captain Berwick’s return. Poor little governess! This then was the price she had to pay for her womanly self-denial and honest independence of spirit. (For Ralph had gathered from Cissy’s remarks that during her stay at Altes there had been no positive necessity for Marion’s exertions, but that she had “too great a notion of independence.”) It must have been that mother and sisters of his! Looking down upon her because she was a daily governess. Looking down on her. “Oh,” thought Ralph to himself, “if only I could set ever thing at defiance and brave the future, even now I feel as if I should like to snatch her away from all those horrid people and devote my life to making her happy. But,” and with the ‘but’ his mood changed, “she doesn’t care for me. Oh, Frank Berwick, what a weak, contemptible fool you are! For he did care for her—I am sure of that.” But hardly had his reflections reached this point when they were interrupted. Hasty steps behind him which his absorption had prevented his hearing as they drew nearer, and in another moment there stood Frank Berwick beside him. His face still flushed, but more now from eagerness than annoyance, and with a look of resolution about it too. “Severn,” he began abruptly, “I behaved like a fool just now; but I was most intensely annoyed, as you will understand when you hear what I have got to say. I want to tell you something. It’s rather a queer thing to do, I know, but it seems to me we have all been playing at cross purposes, and I shall feel better satisfied if I tell you. There is not another man living, I don’t think, that I would trust, as I am going to let you see I trust you.” He stopped, rather awkwardly, for Ralph had not by glance or gesture encouraged him to proceed. Now, however, he could hardly avoid saying something.