"Do not misunderstand me. I do not form a rash judgment of every person I meet. As a matter of fact I arrive at no judgment at all. I defer judgment until after the investigation, and I beware of him until this investigation has been completed." "You are then obliged to live in a world of suspicion." "No. Rather in a world of security. How often has the knave paraded under the banner of innocence! The greatest thieves wear golden chains." "I could not live after such manner." She became impatient. "Were you thrown into daily relation with the world you would soon learn the art of discrimination. The trusty sentinel lives a life of suspicion." At length a truce was silently proclaimed. Composure reigned. The unpleasant episode had to all appearances been obliterated from their minds. There was even a touch of that old humor dancing in her eyes. "Some one has said," she observed, "that 'suspicion is the poison of friendship.'" "And a Latin proverb runs, 'Be on such terms with your friend as if you knew he may one day become your enemy.' Friendship, I realize, is precious and gained only after long days of probation. The tough fibers of the heart constitute its essence, not the soft texture of favors and dreams. We do not possess the friends we imagine, for the world is self-centered." "Have you no friends?" Now she smiled for the second time, but it was only a smile of humor about the corners of her mouth. "Only those before whom I may be sincere." He was serious, inclined to analysis, one might say. "Can you expect to find sincerity in others without yourself being sincere?" "No. But my friend possesses my other soul. I think aloud before him. It does not matter. I reveal my heart to him, share my joys, unburden my grief. There is a simplicity and a wholesomeness about it all. We are mutually sincere." "Your test is severe." "But its fruits imperishable." "I cannot adopt your method," was the deliberate reply as she began to gather together her ball and needles. "Let's leave it at that." And they left it. V Long after he had gone she sat there until it was well into the evening, until the stars began to blink and nod and wrap themselves in the great cloak of the night, as they kept a silent vigil over the subdued silence which had settled down upon the vast earth and herself. The longer she sat and considered, the more melancholy did she become. Stephen was displeased with her conduct and made no effort to conceal it, inflicting only the greater wound by his ambiguous and incisive remarks. His apparent unconcern and indifference of manner frightened her, and she saw, or she thought she saw a sudden deprivation of that esteem with which she was vain enough to presuppose he was wont to regard her. And yet he was mistaken, greatly mistaken. Furthermore, he was unfair to himself and unjust to her in the misinterpretation of her behavior. His displeasure pained her beyond endurance.