Her face grew full of the finest memories and all the fibres of her nature were becoming more unstrung. He had made sure of his strength before he had ever dared see her this day, had pitted his self-control against every possible temptation to betray himself that could arise throughout their parting; and it was this very composure, so unlocked for, that unconsciously drove her to the opposite extreme. Shades of colour swept over her neck and brow, as though she were setting under wind-tossed blossoming peach boughs. Her lustrous, excited eyes seemed never able to withdraw themselves from his whitened solemn face. Its mute repressed suffering touched her; its calmness filled her with vague pain that at such a time he could be so calm. And the current of her words ran swift, as a stream loosened at last from some steep height."Sometime you might be in that part of Virginia. I should like you to know the country there and the place where my father's house stood. And when you see the Resident, I wish you would recall my father to him. And you remember that one of my brothers was a favourite young officer of his. I should like you to hear him speak of them both: he has not forgotten. Ah! My father! He had his faults, but they were all the faults of a gentleman. And the faults of my brothers were the faults of gentlemen. I never saw my mother; but I know how genuine she was by the books she liked and her dresses and her jewels, and the manner in which she had things put away in the closets. One's childhood is everything! If I had not felt I was all there was in the world to speak for my father and my mother and my brothers! Ah, sometimes pride is the greatest of virtues!" He bowed his head in assent. With a swift transition she changed her voice and manner and the conversation: "That is enough about me. Have you thought that you will soon be talking to the greatest man in the world--you who love ideals?" "I have not thought of it lately." "You will think of it soon! And that reminds me: why did you go away as you did the last time you were here--when I wanted to talk with you about the book?" Her eyes questioned him imperiously. "I cannot tell you: that is one of the things you'd better not wish to understand. She continued to look at him, and when she spoke, her voice was full of relief: "It was the first time you ever did anything that I could not understand: I could not read your face that day." "Can you read it now?" he asked, smiling at her sorrowfully. "Perfectly!" "What do you read?" "Everything that I have always liked you for most. Memories are a great deal to me. Ah, if you had ever done anything to spoil yours!" Do you think that if I loved a woman she would know it by looking at my face?" "You would tell her: that is your nature." "Would I? Should I?"