start and turned my head away, for there was something very
dark and unpleasant in this man's countenance. Alice perceived
nothing, gave me her advice about the brooch, and when I had
taken and paid for it we prepared to go. I gave a hurried
glance towards the window; the man was gone, and I breathed
more freely. We walked out of the shop, and I debated with
myself whether there could be any harm in questioning Alice
about this person, and in telling her that he had been dodging
us in this strange manner. While I was hesitating about it we
had arrived at the turning into Berkeley-street. Suddenly
Alice drew her arm out of mine and turned abruptly round. She
gazed intently for a moment down Piccadilly, and then turning
to me she said, "I thought I had seen my cousin, Robert
Harding. It was foolish of me to imagine it," she added,
smiling, "for he is at New York. What strange fancies one has
sometimes!"

"Who is Robert Harding? Your cousin, did you say?"

"Yes; the son of James Harding, my uncle."

"What sort of man is he?"

"I know him very little. I have scarcely spoken to him since
we have been both grown up; but he was very fond of me when I
was a little girl, and I have always felt a kindness for him."

"Were you brought up together?"

"Oh, no; when I was about eight years old the scarlet fever
was in our house, and I was sent to my uncle's for two or
three weeks. Robert was then twelve years old; he was called a
very naughty boy, and nobody liked him or said a kind word to
him. The first day I came there he asked me to play with him,
and I was going to say yes, when my aunt called out, 'Don't
play with him, Alice,--don't speak to him; he is in disgrace,
and nobody must talk to him.' He scowled dreadfully and walked
out of the room. In the evening I was dressing my doll in a
room up-stairs, where I was to sleep with Anne Harding, when I
heard somebody sobbing in the next room. I went on tip-toe to
the door and opened it gently. I saw Robert sitting on a bed
and crying bitterly. Anne had told me he never cried, not even
when his father beat him; but he was crying now, and I stood
looking at him till I began to cry too. At last he got up, and
climbing on the bed, he pulled off his handkerchief and tied
it to the post. I did not know what he was doing, but he
looked so odd and so red in the face, that I felt frightened,
and called out 'Robert.'

"He turned round and said, 'What are you doing there? Go away,