If Mr. Carden-Cox knew—Ethel's breath came quickly at the thought! Nigel seemed so pleased to see her again like herself; but, of course, that meant nothing—there was Fulvia in the background, and it would not do for her to study Nigel's feelings. He might wish her to be still on the old frank playmate terms, but it could not be; the time had come for a change, and he must grow used to it. Just for a few minutes everything had felt so natural, so like past days; and now she would have to be careful again, to rein herself in. It was hard, but it had to be done. Whether or no Nigel understood, she must be firm. Ethel did not hear her own sigh. Nigel stood in front, upright and broad-shouldered, streaked still with half-melted snow; and his dark eyes were bent upon Ethel with their most earnest look. She could not fathom the look, or know why it sent so strange a thrill through her. "I think we ought to go home," she said. Then a question came, not in his usual voice. "Ethel, what is the matter?" "Is—anything?" she asked, with an audacious attempt at a smile. "Yes." Ethel found her lips quivering, and she straightened herself, resolute not to give way. "Oh, just the common worries of life." "I wish I could bear them for you." "That wouldn't be fair, You have enough of your own;" and she laughed huskily, biting those unruly lips. Nigel was silent again, thinking. He could not yet make up his mind whether or no to say more. To detain her, he drew from his pocket-book a little folded paper. "I don't know whether you will care to have this. I promised to make a copy," he said. "A copy of—" "Don't you remember the extracts I carried off? I don't want to part with them—" a pause, followed by an emphatic "ever!" and another pause. "But I have had this copy by me to give to you; only there has been no chance." Ethel said only "Thanks!" as she received it. "You don't mind my keeping the other?" "Oh no—not if—I like you to have it." "And I like you to have this. I read it through pretty nearly every day." Ethel mentally determined to do the same. "That fourth quotation always seems to me an exact description of—you." She started. As he spoke her mind had leapt ahead of the words, putting "Fulvia" at the end. "Oh no!" she said again. "If you knew me—" "I think I do; better than I know any one else in the world. And, Ethel, I am trying to make it my rule of life, just as I know you do. Yes, I know, because I can see. But one doesn't find the rule easy to follow." He opened the folded page in Ethel's hand, not taking it from her, and read: "'To sacrifice self as an habitual law in each sudden call to action; to take more and more secretly the lowest place; to move amid constant distractions and above them undisturbedly—' as you do, and as I don't." "I am not like that, indeed, indeed," Ethel murmured.