Sylvia sat in silence, pondering his words. Suddenly she became aware that he was gazing at her eagerly. “Miss Castleman,” he began, his voice trembling slightly, “what I want above all else is your friendship. I’d do anything to win it—I’d give up anything in the world. I have a regard for you—a most intense admiration. If I knew it would make me mean something to you—why then, I’d be willing to go to any extreme, to defy everybody else. But suppose I do this, and I’m left all alone——” “If you did this you’d have new friends—real friends.” “But the friend I want is _you_!” Sylvia answered, “If you did what was right because it was right, if you showed yourself willing to dare something for the sake of principle—why then, right away you’d become worth while. You’d not have to ask for my friendship.” He hesitated. “Suppose—suppose that I should find that I wanted _more_ than friendship——” She had been prepared for that—and she stopped him instantly. “Friendship comes first,” she said. “But,” he pleaded, “give me some idea. Could I not expect——” “You asked me to be a friend to you, to help you by telling you the truth. That is what we have been discussing. Pray let there be no mistake about it. Friendship comes first.” Why did Sylvia take such a course with him? You would have a false idea of her character if you did not realize that it was the first time she had ever done such a thing—and that it was a hard thing for her to do. To refuse to let a man propose to her! To forbear to draw him on, to investigate him, to see what he would reply to various baffling remarks! It was not because she was engaged to Frank Shirley. Under the code which Lady Dee had taught her that made simply no difference whatever. Under that code it was her duty to secure every man who came into her reach; she might remain uncertain in her own mind, she might continue to explore and experiment up to the very moment when the wedding ring was slipped upon her finger. Sylvia had never forgotten Aunt Lady’s vivid image: “Stand them up in a line, my child, and when you get ready, walk down the line and pick the one you want!” She had set up a barrier before van Tuiver, and he pushed against it. The more firm she made it, the more he was moved to push. But suppose she gave way the least little bit, suppose he felt the barrier breaking—then would he not stop pushing, would he not shrink away? What fun to try him, to watch him hesitating, advancing and retreating, trembling with desire and with terror! To analyze the mixture of his longing and his caution, to add a little to the one or the other, and then see the result. Sylvia with a new man was like a chemist’s assistant, mixing strange liquids in a test-tube, possessed with a craze to know whether the precipitate would be red or green or yellow—and quite undeterred by the possibility of being blown through the skylight.