heart tells me so. Everything has
changed since Iris came," she repeated. "I am glad you have some one to
go with you on your rambles, as I used to do--some one to walk and read
with you, as I once did. But when I think of it, and picture you two
together, and know that she takes the same place by your side that I was
wont to take, can you wonder that my heart throbs with a slow, dull
pain?"

"Women magnify everything!" cried Kendal, harshly. "I suppose you will
begrudge me a moment's comfort where another young girl is concerned,
because you can not participate in it."

"I wonder that you can find comfort, as you phrase it, with another,"
said Dorothy, with a little tremor in her voice. "I have never heard
that any other society was satisfying to an engaged lover than that of
the sweetheart whom he avers to love."

Kendal laughed a little low, tantalizing laugh which grated keenly on
the girl's ears.

"Men differ in their tastes and inclinations," he retorted laconically.
"I do not choose to be tied down and governed by one woman's whims, nor
to be dictated to."

"You should not speak of it in that way, Harry," whispered the girl in a
choking voice; "rather, you should say to yourself that you would not do
the slightest thing that might cause me one pang of annoyance. He who
truly loves finds no interest, no attraction but in the one face, the
one presence. I have known many betrothed young men, and I never yet
knew one who paid the girl he loved so little courtesy as to flirt, ever
so slightly, with another."

She could not see the flush that burned his face, for he knew that every
word she uttered was but too true. He felt guilty in her sweet, innocent
presence. Had he but loved her, he would have found no pleasure whatever
in Iris Vincent's dangerous coquetries.

He would not have encouraged her by smile, word, or deed.

A wave of pity swept over his heart for Dorothy as he looked down into
the pure, uplifted face. But it was only short-lived, for at that
instant he heard Iris' silvery laughter from an adjoining room.

"I propose that we finish this interesting subject at some future time,"
he said, carelessly. "I have some important letters to write, and if you
will excuse me for a little while, I should be very glad."

Sorrowfully Dorothy rose from the hassock and slowly quitted the room.

With lagging steps she made her way to her own room, her heart as heavy
as lead in her bosom.

She had entered