ouse,
and play Lady Bountiful at home! I'd love to travel about and see the
world, instead of jogging along in one little rut; and, really and
truly, I dread turning out to work, and am a coward at heart--but,--
that's all! I have always liked you very much as a friend, but I can't
imagine ever feeling any different. When I was thinking over things
just now, I--don't be angry! I don't want to hurt you, only to be
quite, quite honest--I thought more of Eleanor than of you! I hardly
thought of you at all."

The doctor's thin face looked very drawn and pained, but he smiled in
response to her pleading glance.

"I'm not angry, dear. Why should I be? It is not your fault that you
do not care, and it is best for us both to know the truth. I feared it
might be so. I am too old and staid to attract a bright young girl, but
I even now cannot bring myself to regret my love. It has given me the
happiest hours of my life, and I hope you will always let me help you in
any way that is possible. I think you owe me that privilege, don't you,
Ruth?"

"Oh, I do--I do! If it is any pleasure to you, I promise faithfully to
come to you whenever I need a friend, and I should like you to help me.
That means a great deal, for I am horribly proud. There are very few
people from whom I can accept a favour."

He smiled again, but with an evident effort, and Ruth, peeping at his
averted profile, felt a pang of real personal suffering at the sight of
his pain. It seemed dreadful that she should have such power to affect
this strong man; to take the light out of his face and make it old and
worn and grey!

The carriage was nearing home; in a few minutes' time the drive would be
over, and she would have no chance of continuing the conversation. With
a sudden swelling of the heart she realised that she could not part
without another expression of regret.

"I am so sorry, so dreadfully sorry to have grieved you! But you would
not like me to marry you just for what you could give me; you would not
have been satisfied with that, would you, Dr Maclure?"

His eyes met hers with a flash of determination.

"No," he cried--unhesitatingly--"never! I want a wife who loves me, or
no wife at all! One never knows what lies ahead in this world, and if
dark days come I should like to feel that she cared for me more, rather
than less. It would be hard for us both if she valued only my
possessions, and they took to themselves wings and fle