“Nor do I,” she answered promptly. “I have known it for a long time. The best that can be said of it is that I am forcing myself to do evil that good may come--or that you are forcing me.” “I?” cried Colin indignantly. “You know I want nothing but your happiness.” “You don’t think of my happiness at all. You think of me merely as a means of reclaiming George, not as a person to be considered separately.” “I hope you are not going to adopt Lady Haigh’s jargon, Pen. It doesn’t sound nice from a young lady’s lips.” “Do you think that what I have gone through since Christmas has been nice to feel?” she demanded hotly, then broke down and fell upon her knees by his couch in tears. “Oh, Colin, I am very miserable. I can’t bear it. Help me. Be kind as you used to be. Think of me a little, not only of George. He has come between us ever since we came to India. I can’t marry him--I can’t!” Colin put out a shaking hand to touch hers. He had honestly thought he was doing the best both for his sister and his friend in bringing about a marriage between them, and the sudden revelation of Penelope’s state of feeling came upon him with a shock. “Don’t, Pen,” he said feebly. “I didn’t know you felt like this about it. I’ll speak to George--awful blow--poor fellow----” his voice failed, and Penelope sprang up in alarm. “Oh, I have made you ill again! You are faint!” she cried in terror. “Oh, Colin, don’t. I will marry him--it was always to please you.” “No, no.” He lifted his hand with difficulty. “We will talk of this again--not just now. I will think about it. Poor George! poor fellow!” and as she fetched him a restorative Penelope felt, with a renewal of the old bitterness, that his first thought was still for Ferrers, not for her. It was not until the next day that he returned to the subject; but in the interval she caught his eyes following her wistfully, as though he was trying to discover the reason for such hardness of heart. But his voice was gentle as he held out his hand to her when they found themselves alone, and said, “Now, Pen, come and sit here, and let us talk things over.” It did not occur to her to resent this fatherly attitude on the part of a brother no older than herself. He had always stood somewhat apart, and taken the lead, and until the last few months she had never admitted a doubt of his insight or his wisdom. He looked at her searchingly as she sat down beside him. “There is one thing I must ask first,” he said. “Is there any one else?” The blood rushed to Penelope’s face, but she looked him straight in the eyes. “There is,” she said. “But don’t look at me in that way, Colin, as if I had been encouraging some one else while I was engaged to George. I think you might know me better than that.” “You should have told me about it.” “How could I? There was nothing to tell. He didn’t speak until it was too late.” “But when he spoke, you came at once to the conclusion that you preferred him to George?”