"No," said Glynne, quietly and calmly, opening her great eyes widely and gazing full in those of her friend, but seeing nothing of the present, only trying to read her own life in the future, what time she felt a strange sensation of wonder at her position. "No: I never talk about it to any one," she said at last; "there is no need." "No need?" exclaimed Lucy with a gasp; and she looked quite guilty, as she bent towards Glynne ready to burst into tears, and confess that she was very very sorry for what she had done--that she utterly detested Captain Rolph, and that if she had seemed to encourage him, it was in the interest of her brother and friend. But Glynne's calm matter-of-fact manner kept her back, and she sat and stared with her pretty little face expressing puzzledom in every line. "No; I do not care to talk about it," said Glynne calmly, "there is no need to discuss that which is settled." "Settled, Glynne?" "Well, inevitable," said Glynne coldly. "When am I to congratulate you, Lucy?" she added, with a grave smile. "Is she bantering me?" thought Lucy; and then quickly, "Congratulate me? there is not much likelihood of that, Glynne, dear. Poor girls without portion or position rarely find husbands." "Indeed!" said Glynne gravely. "Surely a portion, as you call it, is not necessary for genuine happiness?" "No, no, of course not, dear," cried Lucy hastily. "But I know what you mean, and I'll answer you. No--emphatically no: there is nobody." "Nobody?" "Nobody!" cried Lucy, shaking her head vigorously. "Don't look at me like that, dear," she continued, imploringly, for she was most earnest now in her effort to make Glynne believe, if she suspected any flirtation with Rolph, that her old friend was speaking in all sincerity and truth. "If there were anything, dear, I should be unsettled until I had told you." She rose quickly, laid her hands upon Glynne's shoulders, and kissed her forehead, remaining standing by her side. "I am glad to hear you say so, Lucy," replied Glynne, gazing frankly in her eyes, "for I was afraid that there was some estrangement springing up between us." "Yes," cried Lucy, "you feel as I have felt. It is because you have not spoken out candidly and freely as you used to speak to me, dear." Glynne's forehead contracted slightly, for she winced a little before the charge, one which recalled a bitter struggle through which she had passed, and the final conquest which she felt that she had gained. She opened her lips to speak, but no words came, for as often as friendship for Lucy urged confession, shame acted as a bar, and stopped the eager speech that was ready for escape.