Meanwhile Donald had been sitting for many minutes in the silence born of laboring thoughts. He had guessed Smiles' secret in part, but not in its entirety, and the bitter unhappiness, which had had its inception in Philip's disclosure, lay over his soul like a pall. His father was the first to speak, and his words caused Donald to start, for they seemed to be the result of telepathic communication. "You told us, once, that she wasn't a witch, but, by Jove, there's both witchery and healing in that smile of hers, Don. Look at Muriel now. It's nothing less than a miracle what the very presence of Rose has done for her." "I was wrong," answered Donald, shortly, whereupon Ethel laid aside her book and joined in the conversation in a low voice, so that the absorbed Muriel might not hear. "You love her, Don, it's perfectly obvious. What are you waiting for? Now that Marion has behaved so shamefully, it is my dearest hope that you will marry Rose. I didn't mean to speak of it; but, really, you are changing, Donald, and I don't want to think of your becoming a self-centred old bachelor." "Ethel's right," supplemented his father. "I'm only surprised that you haven't asked her before. You've been in the same house with her for a whole week. Don't let one ... er ... unfortunate experience discourage you." Donald carefully knocked the ashes from his pipe, got up, walked to the railing, and stood with his back toward them. Then he laughed, a trifle bitterly. "Thanks for the advice. I won't pretend that I don't ... care for her; but I can't ask her to marry me, as you suggest--that is, not now." "Why not, I should like to know?" demanded his sister, impatiently. "I can't explain, either; but there is a reason. I am bound in honor. Please don't say anything more about it." But Ethel was not to be silenced so easily. "I don't know what you are talking about; but it's nonsense, anyway," she answered. "Why, she worships you. Any one can see that." "Worships me!" echoed Donald, with sarcastic inflection. "What's the sense in exaggerating like that, Ethel? I suppose that she is fond of me in a way; the way you are, but ..." "I never suspected you of lacking courage before," interrupted the other. "If you haven't the nerve to ask that child yourself, _I_ will. I guess that I'm a better judge of feminine nature than you, Donald." "You failed to prove it once before," he retorted, and instantly added, with a tone of unusual contrition, "I am sorry I said that. It was unnecessary and unworthy. But, really, I can't allow you to play Mrs. John Alden to my Miles Standish. There is a reason ..."