To-night I like you better." "Oh, I am not guinde," said Rowland, gravely.
"I beg your pardon, then, for thinking so.

Now I have an idea that you would make a useful friend--an intimate friend--a friend to whom one could tell everything.

For such a friend, what would n't I give!" Rowland looked at her in some perplexity.

Was this touching sincerity, or unfathomable coquetry?
Her beautiful eyes looked divinely candid; but then, if candor was beautiful, beauty was apt to be subtle.

"I hesitate to recommend myself out and out for the office," he said, "but I believe that if you were to depend upon me for anything that a friend may do, I should not be found wanting." "Very good.