"I meant what I said," Fulvia answered low: "that it will be better for us to be brother and sister again, as we used to be." "But—why?" "Must I say why?" She was the more composed of the two. She had had her struggle beforehand, and was mistress of herself, while Nigel, taken by surprise, was visibly agitated. He sat down in front of her, leaning forward; and as he faced Fulvia, she noted a strange gleam in his eyes. A wonder crossed her mind! Did this mean distress, or was it a sense of possible relief, even of joy? "Yes; I have had no idea all these weeks—But you are changed! What has happened?" "Not the will," she said. "You could not really suppose it to be that. I am only glad he did not make a new one." "Then—what?" Fulvia answered by a single word, soft and clear, "Ethel!" Nigel did not move, and his eyes were on Fulvia still. "What does this mean? Have I given you cause—?" "No," she interrupted; "you have fought hard. I know it, and I don't blame you—I don't indeed. You have been open and true. And I accepted you, knowing—if not, I ought to have known—for you were true. But—" "You cannot trust me?" "If either of us says that, I am the one to say it to you." "No; You do not trust me," he said, with marked displeasure. Yet, under the displeasure, under the gravity, the trouble, the suppressed emotion, Fulvia knew that there lay the dawn of a new hope, of an old dead hope revived, so radiant that he dared not look at it. She knew this as distinctly as if she could have seen into his heart. "I think," she said firmly, though with unsteady lips, "that you and I are better as brother and sister. It is wiser for both of us. I do trust you. I know that you are true; and you would be true to me. You would give me all that is in your power to give. But I should expect more than you are able to give; and if I never had it, I should be miserable—we should both be miserable. You have tried hard, and you would try—to the end. You see, I do not doubt you. But think how far-off that end might lie! And your heart's love is for Ethel, not for me." No direct answer came to this. Nigel sprang up, and paced the room with restless steps. Fulvia knew that he was troubled, but not sorrow-stricken, not in the least danger of being heart-broken. She could watch his face safely as he walked, for he did not look once towards her. It was worried and grieved, nothing more.