So one evening when he was with Blair, he suddenly began to speak to her as he had never done before. Blair was not looking at him, and she answered lightly. But Steve did not respond so. He had grown serious. Blair looked at him quickly; her smile died out, and the color flushed her face. Could Steve be in earnest? She gazed at him curiously; but unhesitatingly; only a look almost of sorrow came into her eyes. Steve went on and said all he had planned. When he had finished, Blair suddenly sat down by him and put her hand over his. She was perfectly composed and her eyes looked frankly into his. “No, Steve—you are mistaken,” she said, quietly. “You have misunderstood your feelings. You do not love me—at least, you are not in love with me. You love me I believe, devotedly, and I thank God for it every day of my life; as I love you as a sister—but you are not in love with me. You would help me, relieve me, spare me trouble and anxiety, save me from Captain—M—Middleton—and you see no reason why we should not marry. But there is one reason. You are not in love with me and I am not in love with you.” She was speaking so gravely and her eyes were looking into his so frankly and with such true friendliness that Steve, though feeling somewhat flat at his repulse, could not deny what she said. “I know the difference,” she went on, quietly. She paused and reflected and, to Steve’s surprise, suddenly changed and choked up. “I have had men in love with me—and—” Her voice faltered. She looked down, put her hand to her eyes and with a cry of, “Oh! Steve!” buried her face against his shoulder; “I seem to curse everyone that loves me.” In an instant Steve’s strong arm was around her and he was comforting her like an older brother. His sympathy opened the girl’s heart, and drew out the secret of her unhappiness as nothing else could have done. Blair had revealed her feelings to him as she had hardly before revealed them even to herself. It was the old story of misunderstanding, and high spirit; stung pride, hot words, and vain regret—regret not for herself; but only for others. Her unhappiness was that she had brought sorrow to others. It was because of her that Jacquelin had left home, and that his mother was dying of a broken heart. Steve tried to comfort her. She was all wrong, he assured her—she took a wholly erroneous view of the matter. But it was not a success. Jacquelin, she knew, had incurred Leech’s personal hatred on her account, and that was the primary cause of his exile. All the other trouble had flowed from it; his mother’s decline was owing to her repining for Jacquelin and her anxiety about Rupert, who, cut off from his mother’s care and influence, was beginning to show symptoms of wildness. All these Blair traced back to her folly.