rked
up her chin and followed Sophy, defiance in every vigorous line of her.

Sophy led the way into her writing-room and closed the door. She stood,
and Belinda stood facing her. The girl was scarlet and Sophy very pale.

"Belinda...." she began.

Words leaped like flames from Belinda.

"Oh, I know you saw us!" she said. "He loves me.... What are you going
to do about it?"

Sophy's eyes were so almost smilingly scornful that the girl's bravado
failed her. She began changing colour. Her black brows scowled, but she
held her tongue.

"I wished to speak to you about ... your mother," said Sophy quietly.

Belinda scowled on without a word.

"I think, that for ... every one concerned ... it will be better for
your mother to know nothing of all this ... at present."

Belinda kept silence.

"So I am going to ask you to go back to Nahant to-morrow. As soon as
Morris is better, I shall have to go to Virginia on an important matter.
You cannot remain here alone. If you go quietly, there will not be any
need of my speaking to your mother. Tell her that your visit has been
shortened by my leaving for Virginia."

Now Belinda burst forth again:

"Oh, I see!... Morry may be dying and you want him all to yourself!...
You don't want us to be together ... even if he's dying.... You...."

"Not another word...." said Sophy.

Her eyes sobered Belinda. Grey eyes are the most terrible of all when
utter wrath lights them. Belinda glared into those burning eyes and was
silent again. Sophy went to the door and held it open.

"That is all I wished to say. Do as you choose. If you do not go, I
shall send for your mother."

Belinda gave her one look of wild hatred, and went out. The next day she
left for Nahant. She was quite desperate with rage and grief, but she
dared not do otherwise. She dared not risk being separated from Morris
by some distance far greater than that between Nahant and Newport. If
her mother knew what had happened, she might whisk her off to the ends
of the earth. Rage, pain, doubt, fear, jealousy--all these swarmed
stinging in her heart.

The next day Morris was much better, but still too weak to talk. Sophy
went in and out of the room at stated intervals. He always closed his
eyes and feigned sleep when she was there. He could not face her or
himself. He tried not to think. But thoughts, sharp and burning, clotted
in his mind like sparks against the dark side of a chimney.

On the fourth day came the