When you entered the room, you welcomed me only with a bow. Then seeing my paleness, you said kindly, “I forgot your cough, Dr. Hartzmann, or I would not have brought you out in such weather. Sit here by the fire.” After a short pause you went on: “I hope that a day’s thought has convinced you that common justice requires you to say more than you did last night?” “Miss Walton,” I replied, “to you, who know nothing of the difficult and hopeless position in which I stand, my conduct, I presume, seems most dishonorable and cowardly; yet I cannot say more than I said last night.” “You must.” “I can scarcely hope that what I then said will influence you, but if you will go to Mr. Blodgett and”— “Does Mr. Blodgett know what you object to in Mr. Whitely?” you interrupted. “Yes.” “I went to Mr. Blodgett this morning, and he told me that he knew of no reason why I should not marry Mr. Whitely.” “Then, Miss Walton,” I answered, rising, “I cannot expect that you will be influenced by my opinion. I will withdraw what I said last night. Think of me as leniently as you can, for my purpose was honorable.” “But you ought to say more. You”— “I cannot,” I replied. “You have no right to”—But here a servant entered, with a card. “Dr. Hartzmann,” you announced, when the man had gone, “I wrote Mr. Whitely yesterday afternoon, asking him to call this evening, with the intention of accepting his offer of marriage. He is now in the drawing-room, and unless you will have the fairness, the honesty, to explain what you meant, I shall tell him all that has occurred, and give him the opportunity to force you to speak.” “I shall only repeat to him, Miss Walton, what I have said to you.” You stood a moment looking at me, with a face blazing with indignation; then you exclaimed, “You at least owe it to him not to run away while I am gone!” and passed into the drawing-room. You returned very soon, followed by Mr. Whitely. “Dr. Hartzmann,” you asked, “will you repeat what you said last night to me?” “I advised you not to marry Mr. Whitely, Miss Walton.” “And you will not say why?” you demanded. “I cannot.” “Mr. Whitely,” you cried, “cannot you force him to speak?” “Miss Walton,” he replied suavely, and his very coolness in the strange condition made me feel that he was master of the situation, “I am as perplexed as you are at this extraordinary conduct in one who even now is eating bread from my hand. I have long since ceased to expect gratitude for benefits, but such malevolence surprises and grieves me, since I have never done Dr. Hartzmann any wrong, but, on the contrary, I have always befriended him.” “I have been in the employ of Mr. Whitely,” I answered, “but every dollar he has paid me has been earned by my labor. I owe him no debt of gratitude that he does not owe me.”