ast interview were
murmuring in my ears--not a word of my own would come to me!

Miss Dunross laid down her pen, and slowly turned her head to look at
me.

"Surely you have something more to add to your letter?" she said.

"Certainly," I answered. "I don't know what is the matter with me. The
effort of dictating seems to be beyond my power this evening."

"Can I help you?" she asked.

I gladly accepted the suggestion. "There are many things," I said,
"which my mother would be glad to hear, if I were not too stupid to
think of them. I am sure I may trust your sympathy to think of them for
me."

That rash answer offered Miss Dunross the opportunity of returning
to the subject of Mrs. Van Brandt. She seized the opportunity with
a woman's persistent resolution when she has her end in view, and is
determined to reach it at all hazards.

"You have not told your mother yet," she said, "that your infatuation
for Mrs. Van Brandt is at an end. Will you put it in your own words? Or
shall I write it for you, imitating your language as well as I can?"

In the state of my mind at that moment, her perseverance conquered me. I
thought to myself indolently, "If I say No, she will only return to the
subject again, and she will end (after all I owe to her kindness)
in making me say Yes." Before I could answer her she had realized my
anticipations. She returned to the subject; and she made me say Yes.

"What does your silence mean?" she said. "Do you ask me to help you, and
do you refuse to accept the first suggestion I offer?"

"Take up your pen," I rejoined. "It shall be as you wish."

"Will you dictate the words?"

"I will try."

I tried; and this time I succeeded. With the image of Mrs. Van Brandt
vividly present to my mind, I arranged the first words of the sentence
which was to tell my mother that my "infatuation" was at an end!

"You will be glad to hear," I began, "that time and change are doing
their good work."

Miss Dunross wrote the words, and paused in anticipation of the next
sentence. The light faded and faded; the room grew darker and darker. I
went on.

"I hope I shall cause you no more anxiety, my dear mother, on the
subject of Mrs. Van Brandt."

In the deep silence I could hear the pen of my secretary traveling
steadily over the paper while it wrote those words.

"Have you written?" I asked, as the sound of the pen ceased.

"I have written," she answered, in her customary quiet tones.

I went on