She leaned forward with a little gesture of abandonment. “Listen, Frank Shirley!” she said. (What a masterstroke was that!) “I have known about you since I was a little girl. And I understand the way things are now, because I am a friend of Miss Atkinson’s. She asked you to come over and meet me, and you didn’t. Now if the reason was that you have no interest in me—why then I’m annoying you, and I’m behaving outrageously, and I’m preparing humiliation for myself. But if the reason is that you think I wouldn’t meet you fairly—that I wouldn’t judge you as I would any other man—why, don’t you see, that would be cruel, that would be wicked! If you were afraid that I wanted to—to patronize you—to do good to you——” She stopped. Surely she had said enough! There was a long silence, while he gazed at her—reading her very soul, she feared. “Suppose, Miss Castleman,” he said, at last, “that I was afraid that you wanted to do _harm_ to me?” That was getting near to what she wanted! “Are you afraid?” she asked. “Possibly I am,” he replied. “It is easy for those who have never suffered to preach to those who have never done anything else.” Sylvia did not know quite how to meet that. It was so much more serious than she had been looking for, when she had slipped that ring under the saddle-cloth! “Oh,” she cried, “what shall I say to you?” “I will tell you exactly,” he said, “and then neither of us will be taking advantage of the other. You are offering me your friendship, are you not?” “Yes.” “Well, then, can you say to me that if I were to accept it, the shame of my family would never make any difference to you?” She cried instantly, “That is what I’ve been trying to tell you! Of course it would not.” “You can say that?” he persisted. “It would make no difference whatever?” She was about to answer again; but he stopped her. “Wait and think. You must know just what I mean. It is not a thing about which I could endure a mistake. Think of your family—your friends—your whole world! And think of everything that might arise between us!” She stared at him, startled. He was asking if he might make love to her! She had not meant it to go so far as that—but there it was. Her own recklessness, and his forthrightness, had brought it to that point. And what could she say? “Think!” he was saying. “And don’t try to evade—don’t lie to me. Answer me the truth!” His eyes held hers. She waited—thinking, as he forced her to. At last, when she spoke, it was with a slightly trembling voice. “It would make no difference,” she said. And then she tried to continue looking at him, but she could not. She was blushing; it was a dreadful habit she had! It was an absolutely intolerable situation, and she must do something—instantly. _He_ never would—the dreadful sphinx of a man! She looked up. “Now we’re friends?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Then,” she said, laughing, “reach under the saddle-cloth and get out my ring. I might lose it.”