"Yes," said Ida, "poor Eve was driven out of the Garden of Eden, but I feel as if I had found my way into it. I only wish I could stay there," and her sigh was long and deep.
"Does the world outside seem very full of thorns and thistles?" he asked, kindly.
After a moment she replied, simply and briefly, "Yes."
He looked at her sympathetically for a moment, and then said earnestly:
"Miss Ida, pardon me if I venture a prediction. Wherever you dwell, hereafter, all that is good and beautiful in life and character which the garden typifies will begin to take the place of thorns and thistles."
"I hope so," she faltered, "but that involves bleeding hands, Mr. Van Berg. I am not cast in heroic mould. I am weak and wavering, and as a proof I am dwelling on the very subject that I had forbidden. I trust that you will be too manly to take advantage of my weakness henceforth and will try to help me forget myself."
"That may be a harder task than you think, but I will attempt whatever you ask," and from her pleased and interested expression it would seem that during the next half hour he succeeded remarkably well. Suddenly, as if a happy thought had struck him, he said a little abruptly:
"I foresee that you and Miss Burton are destined to become great friends. You have not yet learned what a lovely character she possesses and how broad and deep are her sympathies."
Ida's silence caused him to turn and look at her, and he saw that the light and color had faded from her face, but she said, emphatically:
"Miss Burton is even more admirable than you think her to be, if that were possible."