He shut the door, and went to his chair. Something in his look kept her when she would fain have fled. Instead of so doing, she drew nearer. "Don't mind about me. I shall get all right in time." She knelt on a stool in front of him, trying to smile. "I wonder—will life always be so difficult!" "As what?" "It all seems one big tangle! One wants what one can't have,—and one doesn't take what one might have." He waited for more; and she slowly pulled a late rose to pieces, making a little pile of the debris. "Isn't that cruel? I've spoilt the rose's life. It might have lasted three days longer. What a number of spoilt lives there are in the world! I wonder if somebody is always to blame. Poor little rose. Dick and I one day counted the petals of a fine huge one, daddy, and we found—taking them all, big and little—hundreds. Would you have expected it?" "No." He was thinking of her involuntary mention of Maurice; not of the rose-petals. "It surprised us both. But about difficulties—I meant—in more ways than one. I used to fight so for liberty; just to have my own way. And I think Dick helped me to see that that isn't always the best thing." She was back in thought on the Glückhorn, listening to him. The Rector made a slight sound of assent. "I don't talk about him to other people, you know. I may sometimes to you—mayn't I?" Then she lifted her head higher. "Mrs. Stirling wants me to spend to-morrow at Deene." Mr. Winton found speech. "Are you sure of yourself, Doris?" Her hand shook, and her cheek paled. "No—" she said very low. "I'm not sure. I don't know what I want— or what I don't want." The pause following seemed long. He said at length with emphasis,—"Whatever you do,—don't drift!" "I think I am drifting." "Then stop! Take time. Be cautious. Don't get yourself entangled, before you know your own mind." She put both hands over her face, and bent forward, resting the backs of them upon his knee. His broad hand came on her head, with a strong and loving pressure. "For your own sake—wait!—pray for guidance. Not for your own sake alone. Think of others too. You once asked me to consider Maurice's side of the question; and rightly. What now about Stirling's side of it?" "You mean—should I be wronging him?" "Not if you love him." She lifted a flushed face. "But—I don't. Not love, daddy. I love Dick. The two things are so different. I don't think—really—he would want that sort of love!" "If you give yourself to him, he will want the whole of you—he will have a right to the whole. No man, worth calling a man, would be content with less. Loving one man, you cannot rightly marry another." "People do sometimes, don't they?—and things get straight in the end." "People do many foolish things. The question is not—what others do, but what you yourself ought to do. Could you truly and faithfully promise to 'love, honour, and obey' Hamilton Stirling? To LOVE him, child! You know what love means."