tures had been lost upon him. Nan had been quite aware of
this, but it had not troubled her much: it was a way he had, and he
meant nothing by it. Most men had humors that must be respected, and
Dick's father had his. So she bore herself very sweetly towards him,
treating his caustic remarks as jokes, and laughing pleasantly at
them, never taking his hints in earnest; he would know better some
day, that was all; but she had no idea of any deeply-laid plan against
their happiness. She felt as though some one had struck her hard; she
had received a blow that set all her nerves tingling. It was very
funny, what he said; it was so droll that it almost made her laugh;
and yet her eyes smarted, and her cheeks felt on fire.

"'Dick must marry money.' Why must he?--that was so droll. 'Well, not
an heiress exactly, but a pretty little sum of money, and a bright,
taking little body.' Who was this mysterious person whom he had in
view, whose connections were so desirable, who was to be Dick's future
wife? Dick's future wife!" repeated Nan, with an odd little quiver of
her lip. "And was it not droll, settling it all for him like that?"

Nan fell into a brown study, and then woke up with a little gasp. It
was all clear to her now, all these cut-and-dried sentences,--all
those veiled sneers and innuendoes.

They were poor,--poor as church-mice,--and Dick must marry money. Mr.
Mayne had laid his plans for his son, and was watching their growing
intimacy with disapproving eyes. Perhaps "the bright, taking little
body" might accompany them to Switzerland; perhaps among the mountains
Dick would forget her, and lend a ready acquiescence to his father's
plans. Who was she? Had Nan ever seen her? Could she be here this
afternoon, this future rival and enemy of her peace?

"Ah, what nonsense I am thinking!" she exclaimed to herself, starting
up with a little shame and impatience at her own thoughts. "What has
this all got to do with me? Let them settle it between
them,--money-bags and all. Dick is Dick, and after all, I am not
afraid!" And Nan marched back to the company, with her head higher,
and a great assumption of cheerfulness, and a little gnawing feeling
of discomfort at her heart, to which she would not have owned for
worlds.

Nan was the gayest of the gay that evening, but she would not dance
again with Dick: she sent the poor boy away from her with a decision
and peremptoriness that struck him with fresh dismay.

"You are no