"I can't help it, Phil!" he said. "It's no use fretting and fuming at
me. It was like Dyceworthy's impudence, of course,--but there's no doubt
he proposed to her,--and it's equally certain that she rejected him. I
thought I'd tell you you had a rival,--not in me, as you seemed to think
yesterday,--but in our holy fat friend."

"Rival! pshaw!" returned Errington, with an angry laugh. "He is not
worth kicking!"

"Possibly not! Still I have a presentiment that he's the sort of fellow
that won't take 'no' for an answer. He'll dodge that poor girl and make
her life miserable if he can, unless--"

"Unless what?" asked Philip quickly.

Lorimer stopped in his walk, and, leaning against the deck-railings,
looked his friend straight in the eyes.

"Unless you settle the matter," he said with a slight effort. "You love
her,--tell her so!"

Errington laid one hand earnestly on his shoulder.

"Ah, George, you don't understand!" he said in a low tone, while his
face was grave and full of trouble. "I used to think I was fairly brave,
but I find I am a positive coward. I dare not tell her! She--Thelma--is
not like other women. You may think me a fool,--I dare say you do,--but
I swear to you I am afraid to speak, because--because, old boy,--if she
were to refuse me,--if I knew there was no hope--well, I don't want to
be sentimental,--but my life would be utterly empty and worthless,--so
useless, that I doubt if I should care to live it out to the bitter
end!"

Lorimer heard him in silence,--a silence maintained partly out of
sympathy, and partly that he might keep his own feelings well under
control.

"But why persist in looking at the gloomy side of the picture?" he said
at last. "Suppose she loves you?"

"Suppose an angel flew down from Heaven!" replied Philip, with rather a
sad smile. "My dear fellow, who am I that I should flatter myself so
far? If she were one of those ordinary women to whom marriage is the
be-all and end-all of existence, it would be different--but she is not.
Her thoughts are like those of a child or a poet,--why should I trouble
them by the selfishness of my passion? for all passion _is_ selfish,
even at its best. Why should I venture to break the calm friendship she
may have for me, by telling her of a love which might prove unwelcome!"

Lorimer looked at him with gentle amusement depicted in his face.

"Phil, you are less conceited than I thought you were," he said, with a
light laugh, "or else