elf,
or of me."

"What do you mean, Mr. Carlisle?" Eleanor exclaimed with burning
cheeks. But he stood before her quite cool, his arms folded, looking
down at her.

"Do you wish me to speak?"

"Certainly! I do."

"I will tell you then. It would not accord with my wishes to have my
wife grant whispered consultations in public to any man; especially a
young man and one of insinuating talents, which this one well may be. I
could have shot that man, as he was talking to you to-night, Eleanor."

Eleanor put up her hands to her face to hide its colour for a moment.
Shame and anger and confusion struggled together. _Had_ she done
anything unworthy of her? Others did the same, but they belonged to a
different class of persons; had she been where Eleanor Powle, or even
Eleanor Carlisle, would be out of place? And then there was the
contrasted consciousness, how very pleasant and precious that whispered
"consultation" had been to her. Mr. Carlisle stooped and took away her
hands from her face, holding them in his own.

"Eleanor--had that young man anything to do with those unmanageable
wishes you expressed to me?"

"So far as his words and example set me upon thinking," said Eleanor.
"But there was nothing in what was said to-night that all the world
might not hear." She rose, for it was an uncomfortable position in
which her hands were held.

"All the world did not hear it, you will remember. Eleanor, you are
honest, and I am jealous--will you tell me that you have no regard for
this young man more than my wife ought to have?"

"Mr. Carlisle, I have never asked myself the question!" exclaimed
Eleanor with indignant eyes. "If you doubt me, you cannot wish to have
anything more to do with me."

"Call me Macintosh," said he drawing her within his arm.

Eleanor would not. She would have freed herself, but she could not
without exerting too much force. She stood silent.

"Will you tell me," he said in a gentle changed tone, "what words did
pass between you and that young man,--that you said all the world might
hear?"

Eleanor hesitated. Her head was almost on Mr. Carlisle's shoulder; his
lips were almost at her downcast brow; the brilliant hazel eyes were
looking with their powerful light into her face. And she was his
affianced wife. Was Eleanor free? Had this man, who loved her, no
rights? Along with all other feelings, a keen sense of self-reproach
stole in again.

"Macintosh," she said droopingly, "it was enti