My face crimsoned at this very direct question, for I knew of that
change in me, and went about in continual fear that others would
presently notice it, and draw their own conclusions. She continued
looking at me, until for very shame I turned my face aside; for if I had
confessed that separation from Yoletta caused my dejection, she would
know what that feeling meant, and I feared that any such premature
declaration would be the ruin of my prospects.

"I know the reason, though I ask you," she continued, placing a hand on
my shoulder. "You are grieving for Yoletta--I saw it from the first. I
shall tell her how pale and sad you have grown--how different from what
you were. But why do you turn your face from me?"

I was perplexed, but her sympathy gave me courage, and made me
determined to give her my confidence. "If you know," said I, "that I am
grieving for Yoletta, can you not also guess why I hesitate and hide my
face from you?"

"No; why is it? You love me also, though not with so great a love; but
we _do_ love each other, Smith, and you can confide in me?"

I looked into her face now, straight into her transparent eyes, and it
was plain to see that she had not yet guessed my meaning.

"Dearest Edra," I said, taking her hand, "I love you as much as if one
mother had given us birth. But I love Yoletta with a different love--not
as one loves a sister. She is more to me than any one else in the world;
so much is she that life without her would be a burden. Do you not know
what that means?" And then, remembering Yoletta's words on the hills, I
added: "Do you not know of more than one kind of love?"