"Did you?" he returned placidly. "Well, I suppose neither of you has the sole monopoly of any hotel in Europe." "Then you're not shocked?" "Not in the least. I conjecture that some accidental happening drove you both into an awkward predicament. Feel like telling me about it all?"--with a friendly smile. Ann felt exactly like it. There was something in Brian Tempest--in his absolute sincerity and his broad, tolerant, humorous outlook on things--which attracted confidence as a magnet attracts steel, and before long he was in possession of the skeleton facts of the story, and had himself, out of his own gifts of observation and sympathetic intuition, clothed those bare bones with tissue. "And what do you propose to do?" he asked, when Ann ceased speaking. "Stick it out," she returned briefly. Tempest watched the brave fire gather and glow in the golden-brown eyes. He nodded contentedly. "I was sure you would," he said. "And don't worry overmuch. _Think_ that it will come right. Even"--with a kindly significance--"the part that hurts you most--and I know that's not the general gossip. Don't let your thoughts waver. There's no limit to the force of thought, you know." "You believe that, too, then?" said Ann quickly. "I'm sure of it," he answered quietly. "Thought is the one great miracle-worker. Why"--with a laugh--"if you want immediate proof, it was a bad thought, some one thinking wrongly, that started all this present trouble. So that the right thought--the thought that it will all work out straight, held by you and by all of us who are your friends--is the obvious antidote. God never made a law that only works one-sidedly. If thought forces can work evil, they can assuredly work infinite good." "You're an excellent 'cheerer-up,'" said Ann, later on, when he was going. "You _have_ cheered me, you know," she added gratefully. "Have I? I'm glad. And now, I want you to cheer me." "You?" Her voice held surprise. "Yes, me." He hesitated a moment. "Ann, I'm going to throw myself on your mercy. I know--to my deep shame I know that my sister has been one of the people who have helped to circulate this unfounded story about you. I want you, if you can, to try and forgive her--and me." "There's nothing to forgive you for," protested Ann. "She's my sister. Part of her burden must be mine. Nor have I any excuse to offer for her. Some people look through a window and see God's sunshine, while others see only the spots on the window-pane. We are as we're made, they say--but some of us have got a deal of re-making to do before we're perfected." "Don't worry." Unconsciously Ann sought to comfort him in the same familiar, everyday language which he himself had used to her. "Don't worry one bit. I've no feeling of ill-will towards Miss Caroline. It's just her way--one can't help one's way of looking at things, you know"--quaintly. "And I'm quite, quite sure she never meant any harm."