“Is it likely I should speak of it!” returns Sir Adrian reproachfully.  “No; anything connected with you shall be sacred to me.  But—­pardon me—­I still think you are in grief, and, believe me, in spite of everything, I would deem it a privilege to be allowed to befriend you 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 alludes to her coming marriage with his cousin.  “And—­and—­do not be angry with me; but I would ask you to consider long and earnestly before taking the step you have in view.  Remember it is a bond that once sealed can never be canceled.”

“A bond!  I do not follow you,” exclaims Florence, bewildered.

“Ah, you will not trust me; you will not confide in me!”

“I have nothing to confide,” persists Florence, still deeply puzzled.

“Well, let it rest so,” returns Adrian, now greatly wounded at her determined reserve, as he deems it.  He calls to mind all Mrs. Talbot had said about her slyness, and feels disheartened.  At least he has not deserved distrust at her hands.  “Promise me,” he entreats at last, “that, if ever you are in danger, you will accept my help.”

“I promise,” she replies faintly.  Then, trying to rally her drooping spirits, she continues, with an attempt at a smile, “Tell me that you too will accept mine should you be in any danger.  Remember, the mouse once rescued the lion!”—­and she smiles again, and glances at him with a touch of her old archness.

“It is a bargain.  And now, will you rest here awhile until you feel quite restored to calmness?”