Gregory was now caught. If he agreed he must state his doubts of her real goodness; his low estimate of women in general which led to his purpose to tempt her. This would not only arm her against his efforts, but place him in a very unpleasant light. "I beat a retreat, Miss Walton. I am satisfied that your opinion would discourage me utterly." "You need have no fears of that kind," she said; "although my opinion would not be flattering it would be most encouraging." "No, Miss Walton, I am not to be caught. My every glance and word reveal my opinion of you, while yours of me amounts to what I used to hear years ago: 'You are a bad boy now, but may become a good one.' Come, give me your hand." As she complied she gave him a quick, keen look. Her intuition told her of something hidden, and he puzzled her. Her hand was ungloved, and he thought, "When have I clasped such a hand before? It could help a Hercules. At any rate he would like to hold it, for it is alive." There is as much diversity of character in hands as in faces. Some are very white and shapely, and a diamond flashes prettily upon them, but having said this you have said all. Others suggest honest work and plenty of it, and for such the sensible will ever have a genuine respect. There are some hands that make you think of creatures whose blood is cold. A lady's hand in society often suggests feebleness, lack of vitality. It is a thing to touch decorously, and if feeling betray you into giving a hearty grasp and pressure, you find that you are only causing pain and reducing the member to a confused jumble of bones and sinews. There are hands that suggest fancy-work, light crochet needles, and neuralgia. Annie's hand was not one that a sculptor would care to copy, though he would find no great fault with it; but a sculptor would certainly take pleasure in shaking hands with her--the pleasure that is the opposite of our shrinking from taking the hand of the dead. It was soft and delicate to the pressure, and yet firm. It reminded one of silk drawn over steel, and was all electric and throbbing with life. You felt that it could give you the true grasp of friendship--that it had power to do more than barely cling to something--that it could both help and sustain, yet its touch would be gentleness itself beside the couch of suffering. When they had reached the brow of the hill he was much more exhausted than she, and sat down panting. "Miss Walton," he asked, "do you not despise a feeble man?" "What kind of feebleness do you mean?" "The weakness that makes me sit pale and panting here, while you stand there glowing with life and vigor, a veritable Hebe." "All your compliments cannot balance that imputation against me. Such weakness awakens my pity, sympathy, and wish to help." "Ah! the emotions you would bestow on a beggar--very agreeable to a _man_. Well, what kind of feebleness do you despise?"