"You mean that I should have lost my ignorance? Yes, that made me feel badly," she assented. "That is the worst of it. One becomes so suspicious. But, Mr. Odd, that is merely a sentimental regret. I have not lost my self-respect. I am not ignorant of things I should like to ignore; but one may know a great many things, and be unharmed." "My dear child, you are probably innocent of things familiar to many modern girls. No knowledge could harm you. You have a right to more than self-respect. You are a little heroine. Your unrewarded, unrecognized fight fills me with amazement and reverence. I did not know that such self-forgetful devotion existed." "Oh, please don't talk like that! It is quite ridiculous! We must have money, and I can make it easily. I would be quite a monster if I sat idly at home, and saw mamma in squalid misery. I merely do my duty." Hilda spoke quite sharply and decisively. "Merely!" Odd ejaculated. A thought of the near future, of Allan Hope, kept him silent, otherwise he might have indulged in reckless invective. He still held her hand, and again he raised it to his lips. "That is a very stubborn and unconvinced salute, I am afraid," Hilda said good-humoredly. "May I come and get you now and then?" he asked. "You think it would be wise?" "How do you mean wise, Hilda?" "I might be found out. I have given you my secret. You must help me to keep it." "I may speak of it to Katharine--since she knows?" "Oh, of course, to Katherine. But don't _egg_ her on to worry me!" laughed Hilda; "and speak to her with _reservations_--there are things she must not know." Peter wondered if the child-friendship, the brotherly relations, entitled him to seal the compact with a kiss upon her lips. He looked at her with a sudden quickening of breath. Her dimly seen face was very beautiful. This realization of her beauty's attraction at that moment struck him with a sense of abasement before her. Surely no such poor tie held him to this lovely soul. And, at the turn of his own thoughts, Odd felt a vague stir of fear. CHAPTER V Odd was to take a walk in the Bois with Katherine the next morning, and he found her waiting for him in hat and coat and furs, a delightfully smart and wintry little figure. Katherine never failed in elegance, in well-groomed finish--her low-heeled little boots, her irreproachable snowy gloves, bore the same unmistakable stamp of the _cachet_ that costs, that is not to be procured ready made. Odd, as a rich man, had given very little thought to the power of money, and little thought to Katherine's garments except as charmingly characteristic symbols of good taste; but to-day his eye noted the black fur that fell about her shoulders and trailed lustrous ends to her very feet, more for its richness than its becomingness.