esponding with the writer, but it is not
so. This is only the second time I have had a letter from him, though I
believe papa hears from him occasionally; but I have never sent him a
line."

"How does it happen that he writes to you so appealingly? Have you jilted
him, Miss Dexie?" and he looked eagerly into her face, to read her answer.
"Will you not tell me?" he added, as he waited some moments for her reply.

"There is very little to tell, Mr. Traverse. I think the part of the letter
that you heard tells the story well enough," and she gave a quick look into
his face, "but I think I understand what you mean. This is not the one that
Gussie refers to so often."

"Miss Dexie, if I have spared your feelings to-night, spare mine now, and
tell me what I ask: Is there more than one lover across the sea? Do tell me
the truth, Miss Dexie."

His low, earnest tones thrilled her strangely, and she dropped her eyes, as
she replied in a low tone:

"Let me first explain about the writer of the letter. I never gave him
cause to write to me like that, for I have always disliked him. He has
persecuted me shamefully, even so far as to threaten to shoot me if I did
not promise to marry him, and the strongest wish that was ever born in my
heart is that I may never see his face again." The words ended in a
whisper, but so intense were the tones that Guy felt she told the truth,
and he asked: "What sort of a young man is he, if I may ask?"

"If he had not made himself an object of dislike to me, I could give you a
very favorable account of him," she answered, lifting her eyes an instant,
then turning aside as she met his earnest looks. "He is well educated and
very good-looking, if you admire the kind of beauty that goes with olive
skin, eyes like midnight, and hair to correspond. He has a good bank
account also, and would be a good match--for someone else," she added,
laughing softly.

"Did your father favor his suit, that they correspond yet?"

"Oh! yes; and everything was arranged, settlements, and all. Nothing was
lacking--except my consent."

"Then there was never a promise between you? Forgive me, Miss Dexie, if I
seem inquisitive, but I wish very much to know."

"Nothing like a promise! indeed, nothing could be so distasteful as the
thought of such a thing; not even from the first. I never liked him."

"But there is someone else, Miss Dexie. Is there not a promise given to
someone else?" came the eager tones.

"Not ex