A Son of Perdition. Fergus Hume

how can I give you an answer, when you have not the capability of grasping the answer, Julian? If a peasant wanted a mathematical problem proved to him, he would have to learn mathematics to understand it."

      "Yes, I suppose so. But you mean——"

      "I mean that you have to live the life to understand the doctrine. Christ said that two thousand years ago, and it is as true to-day as it was then."

      With his slow habit of thinking Hardwick had to revolve this speech in his mind before replying. Alice, with an impish look of mischief on her face, laughed also to prevent his answering. "I am taking you into deep water and you will be drowned," she said lightly, "suppose you begin your picture."

      "No," said the man soberly. "I don't feel like painting the picture. I don't believe I ever could," and he looked at the fading glories of sea and land regretfully.

      "Next time you are born you will be a genius," said Miss Enistor cheerfully, "as you are building up in this life the brain required by a master-painter. Meantime I wish you to be my friend."

      "Well, it is hard to decline from love to friendship, but——"

      "No 'buts.' Friendship is love from another point of view."

      "Not my point of view."

      Alice raised an admonitory finger. "You mustn't be selfish," she said severely.

      "Selfish? I? How can I be?"

      "By wishing me to give for your gratification what I cannot give for my own. I cannot love you as you desire, because there is not that spiritual link between us which means true love. Therefore to make me happy, if you really love me, you should be prepared to sacrifice yourself to the lower feeling of friendship."

      "That is too high for me," murmured Hardwick despondingly, "but I see that you won't have me as your husband."

      "Certainly not. I want a man to love me, not to pity me."

      "It isn't exactly pity."

      "Yes it is," she insisted, "you are sorry for me because I live in a dull house with a neglectful father. It is very nice of you to think so, and it is still nicer to think that you are willing to help me by tying yourself to a woman you do not really love. But I can't accept that sacrifice. You must be my friend, Julian—my true honest friend."

      Hardwick glanced into her deep blue eyes, and unintelligent as he was in such subtle matters read his answer therein. "I shall do my best," he said with a deep sigh; "but you must give me time to cool down from passion to friendship. I want you to be my wife, and like all women you offer to be a sister to me."

      "Or I will be your cousin if the relation will suit you better," said the girl, laughing outright at his rueful looks.

      Julian took offence. "You don't pity me?"

      "Not at all, since your feeling is not one of genuine love," was the cool response. "I would if it were."

      "One would think you were a hardened woman of the world to hear you speak in this way."

      "Perhaps I was a woman of the world in my last incarnation, Julian. I seem to have brought over a great deal of common sense to this life. You are a dear, sweet, placid thing, but although you have seen more of human nature and worldly existence this time than I have, you don't know half so much."

      "Alice, you are conceited."

      "Ah, that speech shows you are yet heart-whole, Julian. If you were really in love you would never dare to speak so to your divinity."

      "Well, I daresay I shall get over it. But it's hard on a fellow."

      "Not at all. Hard on your vanity perhaps, but vanity isn't you. Come," Alice sprang to her feet and took up her smart silver-headed cane, "the sun will soon go down and I must get home. We are friends, are we not?" she held out her hand smiling.

      "Of course we are." Hardwick bent to kiss her hand and she snatched it away swiftly.

      "That isn't friendship."

      "Oh, with you friendship means: 'You may look, but you mustn't touch.'"

      "Exactly," said Miss Enistor lightly, "consider me if you please as a valuable Dresden china ornament under a glass shade."

      Julian heaved another sigh and began to collect his painting materials. "I must if I must," he admitted grudgingly; "there isn't another man, I suppose?"

      The face of the girl grew grave. "There isn't another man whom I love, if that is what you mean," she said, reluctantly. "I have not yet met with my Prince, who will wake me to love and beauty. But there is a man who wants, as you do, to be the Prince."

      "Oh hang him, who is he?"

      "Don Pablo Narvaez!"

      "That old mummy. Impossible!"

      "It is both possible and disagreeable. He hinted the other day that he——"

      "Loved you? What impertinence!"

      "No," said Alice dryly, "he did not commit himself so far. But he hinted that he would like me to be his wife. My father afterwards told me that it would be a good match for me, as Don Pablo is wealthy."

      "Wealthy be blessed, Alice," rejoined Hardwick with great heat. "You don't want to take your husband from a museum."

      "I don't and I won't," she replied with great determination, "and for that reason I wish you to be my friend."

      "Why, what can I do?"

      "Stand by me. If my father insists upon my marrying Don Pablo, you must say that I am engaged to you, and this will give you the right to interfere."

      Hardwick packed his traps, and swung up the hill on the home-path alongside the girl. "How can you ask me to take up such a position when you know that I love you, Alice?"

      "If I thought that you did I should not ask for your help, Julian. But in your own heart you know that you really do not love me. It is only what you call the glamour of my personality that has caught you for the moment. It is not improbable," she went on musingly, "that there may be some slight link between us dating from our meeting in former lives, but it is not a strong enough one to bring us together this time as man and wife!"

      "Oh, this mystical talk makes me tired," cried the painter in quite an American way, "it's silly."

      "So it is from your point of view," said Miss Enistor promptly, "let us get down to what you call common sense in your robust Anglo-Saxon style. I want you to stand between me and Don Pablo in the way I suggest. Will you?"

      "Yes. That is—give me a day or two to think the matter over. I am flesh and blood, you know, Alice, and not stone."

      "Oh, nonsense, you deceive yourself," she retorted impatiently. "Don't I tell you that if I thought your feeling for me was really genuine I should not be so wicked as to risk your unhappiness? But I know you better than you do yourself. If you loved me, would you have chatted about this, that and the other thing so lightly after I had rejected you?"

      "There is something in that," admitted Hardwick, as Alice had done previously with regard to his whole-loaf argument. "Well, I daresay I shall appear as your official lover. Don Pablo shan't worry you if I can help it."

      "Thanks, you dear good boy," rejoined the girl gratefully and squeezed the artist's arm. "Don't you feel fire running through your veins when I touch you, Julian?"

      "No," said Hardwick stolidly.

      "Doesn't your heart beat nineteen to the dozen: haven't you the feeling that this is heaven on earth?"

      "Not a bit."

      Alice dropped his arm with a merry laugh. "And you talk about being in love with me! Can't you see now how wise I was to refuse you?"

      "Well," said Hardwick reluctantly, for he felt that she was perfectly right