ly that she started and
replied,--

'Oh, hush! don't speak so loud.'

'Well, tell me then,' I answered in a lower tone, 'what is it you mean?
I hate enigmas.'

'Well, you know, I don't vouch for the truth of it--indeed, far from
it--but haven't you heard--?'

'I've heard nothing, except from you.'

'You must be wilfully deaf then, for anyone will tell you that; but I
shall only anger you by repeating it, I see, so I had better hold my
tongue.'

She closed her lips and folded her hands before her, with an air of
injured meekness.

'If you had wished not to anger me, you should have held your tongue from
the beginning, or else spoken out plainly and honestly all you had to
say.'

She turned aside her face, pulled out her handkerchief, rose, and went to
the window, where she stood for some time, evidently dissolved in tears.
I was astounded, provoked, ashamed--not so much of my harshness as for
her childish weakness. However, no one seemed to notice her, and shortly
after we were summoned to the tea-table: in those parts it was customary
to sit to the table at tea-time on all occasions, and make a meal of it,
for we dined early. On taking my seat, I had Rose on one side of me and
an empty chair on the other.

'May I sit by you?' said a soft voice at my elbow.

'If you like,' was the reply; and Eliza slipped into the vacant chair;
then, looking up in my face with a half-sad, half-playful smile, she
whispered,--'You're so stern, Gilbert.'

I handed down her tea with a slightly contemptuous smile, and said
nothing, for I had nothing to say.

'What have I done to offend you?' said she, more plaintively. 'I wish I
knew.'

'Come, take your tea, Eliza, and don't be foolish,' responded I, handing
her the sugar and cream.

Just then there arose a slight commotion on the other side of me,
occasioned by Miss Wilson's coming to negotiate an exchange of seats with
Rose.

'Will you be so good as to exchange places with me, Miss Markham?' said
she; 'for I don't like to sit by Mrs. Graham. If your mamma thinks
proper to invite such persons to her house, she cannot object to her
daughter's keeping company with them.'

This latter clause was added in a sort of soliloquy when Rose was gone;
but I was not polite enough to let it pass.

'Will you be so good as to tell me what you mean, Miss Wilson?' said I.

The question startled her a little, but not much.

'Why, Mr. Markham,' replied she, coolly, having quickly