Bertie put up his hand. “Don’t,” he said, wincing. “I can’t bear that anyhow. I’m--I’m very grateful to you, old fellow. You did what few men would have done, what I would have asked no other man to do, and--and I’m grateful. Even now, crushed and knocked out of time as I am, I can scarcely realize it. I thought she might not consent right away, that she might say she’d think it over----” “There was no occasion for her to do that,” said Faradeane, grimly. Bertie looked up sharply. “You mean that there was--some one else?” he said, with the acuteness of a man whose nerves are on the rack. Faradeane nodded. “There is! Who--who is it?” “Mr. Bartley Bradstone.” Bertie groaned. “That fellow! Merciful Heaven! Bradstone! Oh, Faradeane!” “You are surprised?” “Yes; surprised is not the word. Why--why, I never thought that she would accept him. I knew he was pursuing her, but I never thought--if I had any fear at all, and it only came to me while I was waiting here, it was that it was you she might care for.” Faradeane’s face went white. “It is you who are mad,” he said, sternly. “Forgive me,” pleaded Bertie, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “But I’ve seen her with both you and him; and I’ve heard her speak to him, seen her look at him as if she disliked him, while to you she was all smiles.” Faradeane sprang to his feet. “That will do!” he said, in a low, harsh voice. “You are scarcely accountable for your words to-day, Bertie; but don’t you see, great heavens, man, how you are giving her away? Is Miss Vanley the kind of woman to engage herself to one man while she is in love----Bah! pull yourself together, and face the inevitable like a man,” and he paced to and fro impatiently. Bertie hid his face in his hands, then he looked up. “Faradeane, I’m sorry I should have said what I did, and yet I could have borne it better if--if it had been you, instead of him. You are--well, you are yourself, and are worthy of her.” Faradeane stopped and put up his hand with a bitter laugh. “Worthy! I!” he said, in an undertone. “Yes,” said Bertie, stubbornly. “In all this--this mystery that hangs about you, I know how worthy you are; I could have borne it, I could have looked forward to the time when I could have cared for her as a sister, and--but this man! Why, Faradeane, has she ever looked at him or spoken to him at all pleasantly? Hasn’t she snubbed him and treated him in such a way as would have made you and me go and cut our throats?” “That’s a woman’s way,” said Faradeane, grimly; “to treat a man like a dog and then--marry him.” “But not hers!” responded Bertie, with earnest conviction. “You don’t know Olivia as well as I do.” Faradeane smiled sadly. “She has none of the unwomanly meannesses. No, there is some other reason.” Faradeane stopped short and looked at him. “Do you mean to say that it is because the man is rich?” Bertie shook his head.