Horace's face paled and he grasped the arms of his chair. Presently he asked sharply: "Why did you lie to my sister, Fledra?" "I just did, and you said you wouldn't tell." "Was it because you lied to her that you cried?" She tossed his question over in her mind. She intended to be truthful to him, unless a falsehood were forced from her to shield Ann. "I cried because Sister Ann was so good to me." "Are you going to tell me what caused you to be untruthful?" he asked persistently. Fledra shook her head dismally. Immeasurable compassion for the primitive, large-eyed child flooded his soul, and his next words assumed a more tender tone. "Of course, you don't mean that you are going to keep it from me?" Her dark head suddenly dropped again, and a smothered storm of sobs drew him closer to her. In the silence of arrested speech, he reached for her fingers, which were twisting nervously in the webby lace on her dress. With reluctance Flea permitted herself to be drawn from her chair. "Fledra, stand here--stand close to me!" said he. Obediently she came to his side, hiding her face in one bended arm. He could feel the warmth of her bursting breaths, and he could have touched the lithe body had he put out his hand. And then--and not until then--did Horace know that he loved her. Yesterday she had seemed only a child; but at this moment she was transformed into a woman, and his sudden passion gave him a lover's right to pass his arm about her. In bewilderment Flea checked her tears and drew back. He had never before caressed her in any way. Horace stood up, almost mastered by his new emotion. "Fledra," he breathed, "Fledra, can't you trust me? Dear child, I love you so!" Stunned by his words, Fledra stared at him. His voice had vibrated with something she had never heard before. His eyes were brilliant and pleading. "Fledra, can't you--can't you love me?" As if by strong cords, her tongue was tied. "Listen to me!" pursued Horace. "I know now I loved you that first night I saw you--that night when you came into the room with Ann's--" He stopped at the name of his sister--he had forgotten for the moment Flea's confession of the falsehood to her. Then the seeming injustice done Ann turned his mind to the probing he had begun at first for the cause of Flea's grief. Intermingled with this was a whirl of thought as to the things that the girl had accomplished. Her entire submission to Ann and himself, her devotion to Floyd, her desire to master the difficult problems of her new life, all persuaded him that for his happiness he must know the cause of her agitation. Spontaneously he pressed his open hands to her cheeks. "Fledra, Fledra! Can I believe you?" The girl lowered her head and nodded emphatically. "Do you--do you love anyone else--I mean any man?"