in any way."

"It is impossible," murmurs Florence, in a stifled tone.

"You mean you will not accept my help"--sadly. "So be it then. I have no
right, I know, to establish myself as your champion. There are others,
no doubt, whose happiness lies in the fact that they may render you a
service when it is in their power. I do not complain, however. Nay, I
would even ask you to look upon me at least as a friend."

"I shall always regard you as a friend," Florence responds in a low
voice. "It would be impossible to me to look upon you in any other
light."

"Thank you for that," says Adrian quickly. "Though our lives must of
necessity be much apart, it will still be a comfort to me to know that
at least, wherever you may be, you will think of me as a friend."

"Ah," thinks Florence, with a bitter pang, "he is now trying to let me
know how absurd was my former idea that he might perhaps learn to love
me!" This thought is almost insupportable. Her pride rising in arms, she
subdues all remaining traces of her late emotion, and, turning suddenly,
confronts him. Her face is quite colorless, but she can not altogether
hide from him the sadness that still desolates her eyes.

"You are right," she agrees. "In the future our lives will indeed
be far distant from each other, so far apart that the very tie of
friendship will readily be forgotten by us both."

"Florence, do not say that!" he entreats, believing in his turn that she