"But I do mind the heroism very much," he said, passing his hand over her wavy brown hair. "I believe that some of the deeds which we all look upon as instances of sublime renunciation have been done in just such a spirit. It is one of the cases in which it is very difficult to tell where the noble stops and the ignoble begins. But of one thing I am quite sure--the hasty and childish spirit speedily died a natural death, and the spirit of heroism has survived to bear the burden imposed by the two." "Don't talk of heroism in connection with me." Mona bit her lip. "I see there is one thing more that I ought to tell you, since I have told you so much. When I went to Borrowness there was some one there a great deal more cultured than myself, whose occasional society just made all the difference in my life, though I did not recognise it at the time. It is partly because I have not that to look forward to when I go back that life seems so unbearable." "Man or woman?" "Man, but he was nice enough to be a woman." The words were spoken with absolute simplicity. Clearly, the idea of love and marriage had not crossed her mind. "Did he know your circumstances?" "No; he took for granted that Borrowness was my home. I might have told him; but my cousin had made me promise not to mention the fact that I was a medical student." "And he has gone?" "Yes; he may be back for a week or so at Christmas, but I don't know even that." Mona looked up into the old man's face. "Now," she said, "you know the whole truth as thoroughly as I know it myself." He repaid her look with interest. "Honest is not the word for her," he thought. "She is simply crystalline." "If I had the right," he said, "I should ask you to promise me one thing." "Don't say '_If_ had the right,'" said Mona. "Claim it." "Promise that you will not again give away your life, or any appreciable part of it, on mere impulse, without abundant consideration." "I will promise more than that if you like. I will promise not to commit myself to anything new without first consulting you." He could scarcely repress a smile. Evidently she did not foresee the contingency that had prompted his words. What a simple-hearted child she was, after all! "I decline to accept that promise," he said; "I have abundant faith in your own judgment, if you only give it a hearing. But when your mind is made up, you know where to find a sympathetic ear; or if you should be in doubt or difficulty, and care to have an old man's advice, you know where to come for it. Make me the promise I asked for at first; that is all I want." Mona looked up again with a smile, and clasped her hands on his knee. "I promise," she said slowly, "never again to give away my life, or any appreciable part of it, on mere impulse, without abundant consideration."