"You would have to, surely," he answered slowly, thinking of some phases of city existence, but allowing no hint of them to escape him. "It is foolish to dream of these things, little girl," he continued, "for they are impossible. Even if you had the means to join the great throng of city revellers, you would, with your disposition, be wounded deep on all sides. The women would say spiteful things about you, and scratch you every way they could, as is their nature; and the men would fill your ears with subtle flattery, and each one spread before you the most insidious net ever woven by mortal brain. No, little sister, be content where you are, and if you are lonely, go to the cave and listen to the whisper of the fairies. They will never stab you to the heart, as the worldly women will. You are like a wild rose now, and as sweet and innocent. You say what you think and mean what you say. Your heart is tender and true and your thoughts pure and simple. You deceive no one, and would not, if you could." "But might I not learn to play as the wonderful woman did," she asked stoutly, "and could I not earn my own living if I did? I need not know, nor care, what these spiteful women said about me, need I?" Winn looked at her in surprise. "And so this is the bee that has crept into the heart of my wild rose, is it?" he said. "You thirst for fame and the laurel wreath, do you, Mona? I thought I had come to know you well, little one," he continued tenderly, "but this surprises me. Do you know what it means, and that to win the world's applause you must study your art for years, and step by step win your way up the ladder, and that already ahead of you are hundreds who will miss no chance to push you backwards? And who will pay for all the cost of tuition and training you must go through, Mona?" "Uncle Jess will," she answered simply, "if I ask him. He loves me." Winn was silent, conscious that beside him was a creature as tender as a flower and as innocent, with a will to do and dare, or strive to do, what few women would, and in her heart was an ambition that, like the bee in the flower, would rob her of all life's sweetness. "I am sorry," he said at last, "that you have this ambition. It is creditable to you, but hopeless. Put it out of your mind before it destroys your peace. Be your own sweet self here on the island, and some day you will learn to love one of its hardy sons, like David Moore, perhaps, and he will make you a home and strive for your happiness." "I do not care for him, or any of the others," she answered, "and never shall." It was not the first time he had mentioned young Moore to her, but never before in so serious a way, and it hurt. "I am sorry," she continued, "that I told you what I have, but somehow I thought you understood me better than any one else. It is all right, however, and no doubt what you say is true."