day of their first meeting that Oliver's interest in
her was due wholly to his love of companionship, and
not because of any special liking he might feel for
her. Had she not seen him quite as cordial and as
friendly to the men he knew? Satisfied on this point,
Oliver began to take the place of a brother, or cousin,
or some friend of her youth who loved another
woman, perhaps, and was, therefore, safe against all
contingencies, while she gave herself up to the enjoyment
of that rare luxury--the rarest that comes
to a woman--daily association with a man who could
be big and strong and sympathetic, and yet ask nothing
in return for what she gave him but her companionship
and confidence.

In the joy of this new intercourse, and with his
habit of trusting implicitly everyone whom he loved
--man, woman, or child--Oliver, long before the
first month was over, had emptied his heart to Margaret
as completely as he had ever done to Miss Clendenning.
He had told her of Sue and of Miss Lavinia's
boudoir, and of Mr. Crocker and his pictures;
and of his poor father's struggles and his dear
mother's determination to send him from home--not
about the mortgage, that was his mother's secret, not
his own--and of the great receptions given by his
Uncle Tilghman, and of all the other wonderful doings
in Kennedy Square.

She had listened at first in astonishment, and then