For a time the doctor said nothing; but the arm, which all the time had encircled my waist, drew me still closer to his side, while he at last replied, “she is _jealous of you_—jealous because she thinks I like _the little Rose_ better than I do her.” “And it’s very foolish in her to think so,” I exclaimed. Again the doctor was silent, but by the light of the full moon I saw that there was a curious train of thought passing through his mind, but it did not manifest itself in words; for when he again spoke, it was merely to reply, “Yes, very foolish;” then, after another pause, he added, “and still I know of no reason why I should like her best—do you?” “Yes,” I answered quickly, “there are many reasons. She is handsome; I am homely. She is graceful; I am awkward. She is rich; I am poor”—— “She is artificial; you are truthful;” said he, interrupting me, while, without paying any heed to this remark, I continued, “she is a young lady, and I am a little girl—only thirteen.” “I wish you were older, Rose,” said he, “and had seen a little more of the world.” Then followed a long conversation in which much was said, which had far better been left unsaid; for I was a warm-hearted, impulsive child, believing that I to him was what he was to me. And still he did not once commit himself, nor in what he said was there aught which could possibly have been construed into an avowal of anything save _friendship_, which was the theme upon which he rang many a change. Alas, for such friendships! They are dangerous to one’s peace of mind, particularly if told beneath an old oak tree, with the silvery moonlight shining down upon you, and the soft summer air gently moving the green leaves above your head. How long we sat there I do not know; but I was the first to propose going, telling him they would miss him at the party, and wonder at his absence. “Let them wonder then,” said he; “I have no intention of returning to the house. It would be intolerable after this pleasant chat with you, so I shall just get my horse and go quietly home.” I did not then know that he had not sufficient courage to brave the jokes and jeers which he knew were sure to greet him, should he return to Captain Thompson’s. Neither did I know that with his fashionable friends he would scarcely dare defend me; nor that when John Thompson once, in his presence, imitated the way in which I stumbled and fell, _he_ joined in the laugh which followed; saying, though as if in apology, “that it was too bad to make fun of me, for I was quite a nice little girl.” We found Mrs. Ross sitting up for me, sleeping in her chair, while the tallow candle at her side had burned and spluttered away, until the black, crisped wick was longer than the candle itself.