We have seen how busy the two girls were; but they had each plenty of time for thought, and Margaret, after observing her friend closely, felt convinced that she had some secret sorrow. And having made up her mind to that, she had no difficulty in deciding what the sorrow was, nor how it could be cured. But Margaret had quite as much sense as sentiment. She was not a good heroine for a novel, because she was so very much an all-round person. She thought of John first, and then she thought of Tom, and, lastly, of herself; and she meant to consider well before she placed her friend irrevocably between herself and her lover. But the uncertainty was trying; and when Mr. Dallington asked that he might declare their engagement, Margaret said they were not really engaged, and that it was her wish that they should not be. “I cannot understand you, Margaret,” he replied. “I do not believe that you are fickle, or that you did not know your own mind; and it seems to me that since we love each other, the most honourable thing is for us to be openly engaged. But I cannot urge you further; it would be unmanly to do so; and if I could I would not wring from you a reluctant consent. But I will not at present believe that you finally reject me. Do not be alarmed; I am not going to persecute you with unwelcome attentions; but I shall ask you again, for I cannot give up the hope of years even at your bidding; and some day, perhaps, you will explain to me the reasons for this change. Pardon me, I am sure there is something which you are keeping from me to-day, and that you would not quite treat me as you are doing if the reasons which you have stated were the only ones.” John Dallington had reached the Old House in excellent spirits, but Margaret had astounded and pained him beyond measure. He little guessed how difficult had been the task to Margaret; but how could she tell him either that his mother had written an anonymous letter to her, or that she felt warranted in believing that his cousin’s happiness would be jeopardised if she agreed to his wishes? Since her talk with Harris she did not dare to lay quite the same stress upon the old doubt as to her parentage, but she hinted at it again and Dallington would not allow her to proceed. “You are yourself and that is enough for me,” he said; but Margaret was very resolute, and he was leaving her, if not in anger, in keen and sorrowful displeasure. And then, woman-like, her heart failed her. “Let us be friends,” she said. “And do believe that I care more for your happiness than my own.” He was very gentle; but he held her hands, and compelled her to lift her eyes to his face. “I do believe,” he said, “that you are not doing this for your happiness. For some inexplicable cause you think it your duty; but you are mistaken. Friends? Yes, certainly, let us be friends, and very near and dear ones.”