June looked out at the dreary sky. How her heart ached as she watched the floating clouds. She went to the family parlor and rang a few chords on the harp, but it sounded mournful and out of tune. She walked to the window, then back to the harp. “I don’t 141 wonder you are out of tune,” she said. “Everything around seems to be, and all through one weak and discordant string.”
Guy stepped in to inquire for Scott. He had grown almost like one of the family, and was allowed the privilege of coming when he chose, regardless of form.
Quickly noticing June’s tear stained eyes, he asked if she were in trouble.
June sighed. How could she tell him of Scott’s disgrace. She knew, however, that she must, for if she did not, the unpleasant task fell on Scott. She hardly knew how to begin, and after several unsuccessful efforts she burst into tears.
“What is it, June, dear?” Guy asked in surprise, and then before he realized it himself his arm was around her waist, and her head was brought down on his shoulder. “What are all these tears for?”
As soon as June could command her voice she told him all. Guy fully sympathized with her, telling her there was no use crying over what could not be helped.
“But, June, you should not make yourself unhappy. Few men have more courage than Scott, and few are as capable of mastering difficulties, and doubtless he will in time conquer his grief by his wonderful determination.”
“Yes, he will conquer just because he must. I never knew a grander nature than that of my brother.”
Guy turned to leave the room, then as if taken by a sudden impulse, he took a step nearer to June, saying:
“Miss June, will you allow me to call some evening soon and have a talk with you?”