she asked. “A wisp of tow to catch the first spark that flies? A brand ever smouldering, which the first breath o’ woman stirs to flame?”

“Never have I loved before — — ”

“Love! Euan, are you mad?”

We both were breathing fast and brokenly.

“What is it then, if it be not love!” I asked angrily.

“What is it?” she repeated slowly. Yet I seemed to feel in her very voice a faint, cool current of contempt. “Why, it is what always urges men to speak, I fancy — their natural fire — their easily provoked emotions� . I had believed you different.”

“Did you not desire my friendship?”