“I see that you are wondering at me, Mr. Lane. Perhaps I should not have confessed to such lamentable ignorance of the world around me?” “On the contrary, I am charmed to have you confess it. “‘Where ignorance is bliss, ’Tis folly to be wise.’” She looked at him in some little wonder. The tone of his voice was peculiar; but when she looked at his face, it appeared perfectly calm and frank. After a moment’s silence, he continued: “To one versed in the lore of the world as I am, it is refreshing to meet with one so guileless and so innocent of the evil of the world. I am not so enviable as you think me, Miss Rodney. A knowledge of the world is not conducive to love of life.” She had been slowly gathering her thoughts together while he talked. Quite suddenly the memory of her own knowledge of the world rushed over her--the knowledge that had come too late to save her from the evil. Her face grew suddenly pale. She recalled the admission she had made just now, “I have never been away from Chester in my life.” She grew frightened at the thought that she had almost betrayed the secret she was sworn to keep. Fortunately, this man to whom she was talking knew nothing and could make nothing of what she had said. But Dr. Anthony and the others--had they heard? She glanced furtively around her. No one was observing her. Effie’s fingers were still straying over the piano, waking low, soft chords, and the doctor’s head was close to hers, as he whispered love’s delicious nothings in her willing ears. Mr. and Mrs. Rodney were looking over the pictures in the new magazine. Max had fallen asleep, as usual, on the convenient sofa. She thought, with a sigh of relief, that no one except Mr. Lane had been paying any attention to her. “But I must be more careful next time. I shall betray everything some time if I suffer myself to relapse into my old thoughtless self,” she thought, and she became so suddenly quiet and _distrait_ that Mr. Lane began to wonder in his mind if he had unwittingly offended her. She did not give him a chance to find out, for just as he was on the point of asking her whether he had been so unfortunate, she made some slight excuse for leaving the room and did not return that night. But Mr. Lane’s brief interview with her had given him material for grave reflection. He had quite decided in his own mind that she was pure, true, and innocent, as she was beautiful. He said to himself that her trouble, whatever it was, might have come to her through folly or waywardness, but never through deliberate sin. He was a close reader of human nature, as his profession necessitated he should be. He knew that he had made Aline temporarily forget her trouble, and he believed that every word that she had spoken to him had been the pure, unadulterated truth. Those frank blue eyes were the very well of truth and purity. They had looked at him frankly and guilelessly, and they had no falsehood in them.