ness my business, without an invitation?" asked
Plank, so quietly that she flushed with annoyance.

"If you pretend to be his friend is it not your duty to advise him?" she
asked impatiently.

"No; that is for his business associates to do. Friendship comes to
grief when it crosses the frontiers of business."

"That is a narrow view to take, Mr. Plank."

"Yes, straight and narrow. The boundaries of friendship are straight and
narrow. It is best to keep to the trodden path; best not to walk on the
grass or trample the flowers."

"I think you are sacrificing friendship for an epigram," she said,
careless of the undertone of contempt in her voice.

"I have never sacrificed friendship." He turned, and looked at her
pleasantly. "I never made an epigram consciously, and I have never
required of a friend more than I had to offer in return. Have you?"

The flush of hot displeasure stained her cheeks.

"Are you really questioning me, Mr. Plank?"

"Yes. You have been questioning me rather seriously--have you not?"

"I did not comprehend your definition of friendship. I did not agree
with it. I questioned it, not you! That is all."

Plank rested his head on one big hand and stared at the clusters of
dim blossoms behind her; and after a while he said, as though thinking
aloud:

"Many have taken my friendship for granted, and have never offered their
own in return. I do not know about Mr. Siward. There is nothing I can do
for him, nothing he can do for me. If there is to be friendship between
us it will be disinterested; and I would rather have that than anything
in the world, I think."

There was a pause; but when Sylvia would have broken it his gesture
committed her to silence with the dignity one might use in checking a
persistent child.

"You question my definition of friendship, Miss Landis. I should have
let your question pass, however keenly it touched me, had it not also
touched him. Now I am going to say some things which lie within the
straight and narrow bounds I spoke of. I never knew a man I cared for as
much as I care for Mr. Siward. I know why, too. He is disinterested. I
do not believe he wastes very many thoughts on me. Perhaps he will. I
want him to like me, if it's possible. But one thing you and I may be
sure of: if he does not care to return the friendship I offer him he
will never accept anything else from me, though he might give at my
request; and that is the sort of a man he is; and that is