"I am afraid the example begins and ends with the choice, then," said Mona, colouring. "I have not read a line; I was dreaming." He looked at her quickly. "Miss Maclean," he said, making a bold plunge, "I have come for my answer." Mona raised her eyes. "What answer do you want, Mr Dickinson?" she said quietly. If the Sahib had been absolutely honest he would have replied, "Upon my soul, I don't know!" but there are moments when the best of men think it necessary to adapt the truth to circumstances. Before Mona came to Edinburgh he had certainly regretted those hasty words of his at the ball; but, now that he was in her presence again, now especially that he was alone in her presence, the old charm returned with all its force. Doris was a pearl, but Mona was a diamond; Doris was spotless, but Mona was crystalline. If only he had met either of these women three years ago, what a happy man he would have been! The Sahib had lived a pure, straightforward life, and he was almost indignant with Nature and the Fates for placing a man like him on the horns of such a dilemma; but Nature has her freaks--and her revenges. When he was alone with the pearl, the diamond seemed hard, and its play of colours dazzling; when he was alone with the diamond--but no, he could not admit that even the clearness and brilliancy of the diamond suggested a want in the pearl. "I am not a boy," he said hastily, almost indignantly, "not to know my own mind." True man as she knew him to be, his words rang false on Mona's sensitive ear. She rose slowly from her chair and stood before the fire. "Nor am I a girl," she said, "not to know mine. It is no fault of mine, Mr Dickinson, that you did not take my answer two months ago. I can only repeat it now," and she turned to leave the room. He felt keenly the injustice and justice of her anger; but he was too honest to complain of the first without pleading guilty to the second. "Considering all that has passed between us," he said simply, "I think you might have said it less unkindly." He was conscious of the weakness of the answer, but to her it was the strongest he could have made. It brought back the brotherly Sahib of former days, and her conscience smote her. "Was I unkind?" she said, turning back. "Indeed, I did not mean to be; but I thought you were honest enough, and knew me well enough, to come and say you had made a mistake. I was hurt that you should think me so small." She hesitated. "Sahib," she said, "Doris and I have been friends ever since we were children, and no man has ever known both of us without preferring her. I can scarcely believe that any man will have the luck to win her, but I could not be jealous of Doris----"