"I did not feel well," he said. "But I daresay you were happy with him." "Indeed I was not. Oh. Neil!" she murmured, looking up at him with eyes shining like stars. "He proposed to me to-day and I refused him." "My darling," he cried, and then drew back. He was thinking of his dream and wondering if he had the right to hold this girl to her engagement. Ruth misunderstood him and pouted. "I thought you would be pleased." "I am pleased. I want you all to myself. All the same, perhaps, you do well to marry Heron." "Then you don't love me?" she burst out, with wounded pride. "Love you?" he repeated, fiercely. "Heaven knows I love you than my own soul. But I am beginning to think that I am not a fit husband for you. My position is so insecure, my nerves are in such a wretched state. Then again, your father may object. Indeed, I think he will." "Why not ask him before you make so certain?" cried the girl, eagerly. "I will do so to-night, but I tell you frankly, I am prepared for a refusal." "Oh, no, there will be no refusal. I am sure he will not put any bar between us. Dear Neil, do you not took so sad. I am certain all will be well, and we shall be married sooner than you think." "Well, it all depends upon your father." "Indeed, it al depends upon me." Then she rose from the piano. "If you were a true lover, Neil, you would not make all these objections. If you do not care for me I shall marry Mr. Heron." "Ah! you like him, then?" cried the young man with a pang. "I like him, but I--love you!" whispered Ruth, and dropping a kiss on his forehead she fled away before he could stop her. But when alone again she began to wonder whether she really did love him. He was so cold and strange in manner that he sometimes chilled her, and although he persisted in declaring that he loved her, she could not help feeling that something had come between them. What it was she could not think, and his refusal to explain piqued her. She after all, had a right to share his secrets, and he declined to trust her. She was a very good-hearted girl and affectionate; but she thought a great deal of herself, for flattery and adulation had been her portion all her life. Jennie had divined rightly. What she felt for Webster was not so much love for the man as admiration for the artist. "Wait till he speaks to my father," she said to herself. "If he should consent, Neil will be once more the affectionate fellow he was."