Martha’s face grew quite white with the concentration of mind which this thought produced. “Yes; I have a brother,” she said. “Forgive me,” said the princess, with swift sympathy. “There is evidently some reason why it pains you to speak of your brother. Forget that I asked you.” The blood rushed to Martha’s face as it occurred to her that her companion might misunderstand her reluctance to speak on this subject. “It’s not that I am not proud of him that it is hard for me to speak,” she said; “it’s expressly because I am. I made up my mind long ago not to talk about Harold. I found I must not, because I could not speak of him with any freedom without saying things that people would think no merely mortal man deserved. I have worshiped him all my life, and, as I’m rather ashamed to own, I’ve had a great many other idols which turned out to be made of clay. This one, however, has never proved for an instant unworthy of my adoration.” The princess smiled. “One would like to get a look at him,” she said. “An absolutely faultless being must be interesting to look at.” “Don’t laugh at me!” cried Martha. “If it were any one but you I could not bear it; but I know you would say or do nothing that could hurt me really. I don’t wish you to understand that I think Harold faultless. He is not. But to one who understands him as I do, his very faults are part of his greatness. They all have their seat in something noble, and to see how he fights to conquer them is a thing that thrills me. He is now off in America hard at work. He has done some quite extraordinary things in electricity, and is absorbed in his career. When I am a little older, and mama gives me up as a hopeless job for society, I am to go and live with Harold, and keep house for him. That is my dream and his.” “Sooner or later, dear child, you will have to wake from that dream. I do not find it as unlikely as you seem to that you will marry; and even if you should not, your brother probably will.” The princess was smiling, but her smile faded at the look of tragic pain in her companion’s face. She could see that the young girl had been touched in her heart’s tenderest place. “No,” she said, with that frown of sadness unrelaxed, “he will never marry.” “Forgive me again, dear Martha,” said the princess. “Your brother has had some disappointment, about which your heart is as sensitive as his own. I see that, and you need tell me no more. It is good that he has you to comprehend and sympathize with him. It is good that you have each other. If you gave your heart and life to a husband as wholly as you have given them to your brother, he would probably break the heart and wreck the life, and even the right to dream would be taken from you. Living with this brother, whom you love and worship so, whether he deserves it or not, you may have many a sweet and joy-giving dream which no reality would equal. I wish I could make you see how fortunate you are.”