"Yes. They demand that I should make a clean breast of things to them. I can't do that. I will tell them all I can. But not everything. If they say, 'Very well, we can't keep her'--then I should have to fetch you, and we should have to fare into the wide world together. And I swear that I would take the same care of you that your own brother might." He leaned forward, fervently, gazing deep into her eyes; and her lips curved into an adorable smile. "I don't think I should be so very much disappointed," she slowly said. "I believe you would let me learn as much as we could afford--wouldn't you?" "I'd worship you--you should be to me like a saint--like a thing apart from the world," he whispered. And she smiled happily. After a few moments' thought, he asked her: "You never heard of any other relative of yours, with the exception of this one uncle?" "No, never." "What did the Reverend Mother tell you?" "That both my parents were dead. That was all she knew." "You have no sort of clew to their family? Have you nothing that belonged to your mother?" "I had one or two things--a pearl ring, a gold watch and chain, and a few other things, such as a cashmere shawl and some lace. But my uncle took them all away. There were no letters or papers of any kind: nothing that one could find out anything from." "Then it appears that nobody but this brute has any claim upon you?" "As far as I know, nobody at all." "They would not run much risk in keeping you," said Felix, his brows knit in thought. "I expect that was what Mr. Vanston was thinking of when he asked if I had ever been abroad," remarked Rona. "Suppose they should let me go abroad to be educated?" "You would like that?" She assented. "I want to see the world," she announced, very simply. Felix smiled at the thought of Denzil's benevolence. He knew of old his pleasure in a certain tepid, but always well-meant philanthropy. The resentment and hatred of his half-brother, which for years back had filled his heart, seemed to him a thing to be ashamed of, now that, in love's light, he saw his own career with new eyes. He pitied Denzil, in an impersonal kind of way, for having such an unsatisfactory brother. No wonder they never spoke of him--the scapegrace for whom the old honorable family must blush when his name was mentioned. And then came an idea which caused him to smile to himself. What would Denzil say, did he know that he was befriending that same scapegrace brother's future wife? He had no scruple in the feeling that money was being expended for such a purpose. But it reminded him of another matter.