“It’s not that there’s one thing wrong with you, Tom,” she said. “It’s I. I’m not thinking of marrying. I’ve grown years older than you are, Tom, and I’ve grown ever so far off from the old Cis whom you first knew and liked. I suppose you knew I was going to be married? I’m glad, thankfully glad that all that is over; I wouldn’t be happy now in the way I thought I’d be happy then, not with the same people, interests. But I shall never again feel as I felt then, so glad to see someone coming, so--I’m afraid it is much the way you feel to me now, Tom dear! Truly you will get over it. It leaves you changed, older, not so light-hearted, but it leaves you; it has left me. I shall never so much as think of marrying you, my nice Nan’s nice brother; yet I am fond of you, and think you’re fine.” “I don’t want to get over it,” groaned Tom. “If I can’t marry you I can keep on loving you and that way you do sort of get a person.” “I think we ought to try to get over it, Tom, because we’ve got to play up, not go moping along,” said Cis. “Let’s forget you love me; in that way, at least, and let’s be glad you love me, or will love me, more as you do Nan, just as I love you. It makes the world a fine place to live in when we know splendid people who are fond of us. Beaconhite, living in Miss Braithwaite’s house, rather spoiled me for other places, Tom. You’ve no idea what a library that is, and what wonderful things I heard talked of before the fire!” “Yes, so I’ve heard you say,” growled Tom. “The old lady herself was a wonder, but how about that man, that Lancaster who was such a highbrow?” There was no missing the implication in Tom’s wrathful voice. Cis felt her blood rush to her hair in a burning blush that rivalled the hair in brilliance, and which angered her, knowing the conclusion which Tom would draw from it. Characteristically, she grappled with the situation. “If you mean to hint, Tom Dowling, that Mr. Lancaster was interested in me, any more than in a girl living under his old friend’s roof, or I in him, more than in the most splendid man I ever saw--except Father Morley, but priests don’t count--you’re ’way, ’way off the mark! I never once thought of such a thing as his really liking me, and you’ve got to take my word for it!” “All right, Cis. I’d take your word for anything, and I’m fearfully glad to take it on this,” said Tom. “I’ve been jealous of that chap, but that settles it, and him. If you won’t hold out a chance to me it’s some comfort not to think someone else has a chance. I guess you’re right that Beaconhite has ruined you. If only you’d never gone! You ran into the whole thing there.” Cis knew that Tom meant that there she had met and loved Rodney, and there had been separated from her earlier friends by the higher things to which she had grown up. It came over her with sudden force that in Beaconhite she had indeed found her fate.