n told her in the extremity
of her fear and doubt.

"Well," she said at the end, "have you written to Mr. Mavering?"

"Written to Mr. Mavering?" gasped Miss Cotton.

"Yes--to tell him she wants him back."

"Wants him back?" Miss Cotton echoed again.

"That's what she came to you for."

"Oh, Mrs. Brinkley!" moaned Miss Cotton, and she stared at her in mute
reproach.

Mrs. Brinkley laughed. "I don't say she knew that she came for that; but
there's no doubt that she did; and she went away bitterly disappointed
with your consolation and support. She didn't want anything of the
kind--you may comfort yourself with that reflection, Miss Cotton."

"Mrs. Brinkley," said Miss Cotton, with a severity which ought to have
been extremely effective from so mild a person, "do you mean to accuse
that poor child of dissimulation--of deceit--in such--a--a--"

"No!" shouted Mrs. Brinkley; "she didn't know what she was doing any
more than you did; and she went home perfectly heart-broken; and I hope
she'll stay so, for the good of all parties concerned."

Miss Cotton was so bewildered by Mrs. Brinkley's interpretation of
Alice's latent motives that she let the truculent hostility of her
aspiration pass unheeded. She looked helplessly about, and seemed faint,
so that Mrs. Brinkley, without appearing to notice her state, interposed
the question of a little sherry. When it had been brought, and Miss
Cotton had sipped the glass that trembled in one hand while her emotion
shattered a biscuit with the other, Mrs. Brinkley went on: "I'm glad the
engagement is broken, and I hope it will never be mended. If what you
tell me of her reason for breaking it is true--"

"Oh, I feel so guilty for telling you! I'd no right to! Please never
speak of it!" pleaded Miss Cotton.

"Then I feel more than ever that it was all a mistake, and that to help
it on again would be a--crime."

Miss Cotton gave a small jump at the word, as if she had already
committed the crime: she had longed to do it.

"Yes; I mean to say that they are better parted than plighted. If
matches are made in heaven, I believe some of them are unmade there too.
They're not adapted to each other; there's too great a disparity."

"You mean," began Miss Cotton, from her prepossession of Alice's
superiority, "that she's altogether his inferior, intellectually and
morally."

"Oh, I can't admit that!" cried Miss Cotton, glad to have Mrs. Brinkley
go too far, and plucking up coura