Although he was much embarrassed, his clear black eyes met hers
without wavering, and he asked, after a moment: "Could you not
accept it if it were given freely?"

"I scarcely understand you," she replied in some perplexity.

"Nor do I understand you, Miss Jocelyn. I wish I did, for then I
might do more for you."

"No, Mr. Atwood," she answered gravely, "you do not understand me.
Experience has made me immeasurably older than you are."

"Very possibly," he admitted, with a short, embarrassed laugh. "My
former self-assurance and complacency are all gone."

"Self-reliance and self-restraint are better than self-assurance,"
she remarked with a smile.

"Miss Jocelyn," he began, with something like impetuosity, "I would
give all the world if I could become your friend. You could do so
much for me."

"Mr. Atwood," said Mildred, with a laugh that was mixed with
annoyance, "you are imposed upon by your fancy, and are imagining
absurd things, I fear. But you are good-hearted and I shall be a
little frank with you. We are in trouble. Business reverses have
overtaken my father, and we are poor, and may be much poorer. I may
be a working-woman the rest of my days; so, for Heaven's sake, do
not make a heroine out of me. That would be too cruel a satire on