“Oh, I know you! I remember how you took that maimed dog home when you were a child. All the others wanted it killed. I can see your eyes blaze now. How you fought for him! He had a right to live, you said. You always felt for the halt and the blind.” “That dog was a comfort,” returned Virginia stoutly. “It wasn’t any merit to be good to him. He was the best watch-dog we ever had.” “No one but you would have nursed that ugly, old, lame dog. It’s your pity, Virginia--that’s what I’m trading on--when I talk of my lameness.” Virginia rose suddenly from the piano and came over to his side. Before he knew what she was going to do, she had laid one of her firm young hands on his shoulder. “Hush!” she said sternly. “You’re getting embittered; you’re losing the proportion of things, Daniel. If you talk like that I shall not pity you; I shall not even be your friend. Remember the gifts you’ve got, the brains God has given you. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Daniel Carter?” He did not answer for a moment. He sat quite still, looking up into her face soberly, aware of her hand on his shoulder. “What am I to do if I can’t help feeling that way, Virginia?” he asked at last in a low voice. “You mustn’t; I forbid you!” she said quickly, but she faltered. She had come to him with the impulse of a sister; she had felt herself a sister to Daniel so long. There was no coquetry in it, only her sympathy for him. She knew how he had suffered. But now, suddenly, meeting his uplifted eyes, Virginia became self-conscious. She blushed, and her hand fell from his shoulder. With almost a feeling of panic she retraced her steps and sank back upon the piano-stool. Daniel, leaning back in his chair as she had left him, passed his hand over his eyes. He was breathing with difficulty, like a man in pain, although he never suffered now from his injury. The physical pain was long past, and only the lameness remained; but for a moment he breathed like a man in anguish. Then, as his hand fell heavily on the arm of his chair, he raised his head and looked at her with haggard eyes. “Don’t do that again, Virginia,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t bear it!” That was all he said, but Virginia, meeting his eyes, turned pale. She seemed to see suddenly, as if she looked into a mirror, all those days when she and William had been so happy and so foolish together, and Daniel--suffering from his hurt then--had looked on. She knew now what he had suffered; and she had never once thought of him! It filled her with generous shame. What could she do? What could she say to him? Then she heard his voice. “Virginia, please play that last tune over again. I love it. It’s so tranquil,” he said gently. She lifted her eyes to his in gratitude. He had known what to do, how to make it easy for her. He had not misjudged her; had not thought her a mere flirt.