ard expressions of
affection. They looked at one another, then Catherine said:

"Well, Beatrice?" and, taking her friend's hand, she sat down by her.

"You know what happened this morning, Catherine?" said Beatrice, looking
at her sadly.

"Yes, I know. I have come about that. Loftus came home, and he told
mother. I heard him talking to her, and I heard mother crying; I came
into the room then, for I cannot bear the sound of my mother's sobs when
she is in distress, and she at once looked up when she heard nay step,
and she said:

"'It is all hopeless, Catherine; Beatrice Meadowsweet will not marry
Loftus.'

"'Nay, mother,' interrupted Loftus, 'there's a chance for me, she has
consented to see me again to-morrow.'

"I flew up to mother when Loftus had done speaking, and I knelt by her
and looked into her face and said, 'You make my heart beat so hard, I
never, never thought of this.' Mother went on moaning to herself. She
did not seem to care about me nor to notice that I was with her.

"'It was my last hope,' she said; 'the only chance to avert the trouble,
and it is over.'

"She went on saying that until I really thought she was almost
light-headed. At last Loftus beckoned me out of the room.

"'What is it, Loftus, what is wrong?" I asked.

"'Poor mother,' he replied; 'she loves Beatrice, and she had set her
heart on this. Her nerves are a good deal shaken lately. Poor mother!
she has had a more troubled life than you can guess about, Catherine.'

"'Loftie,' I answered, 'I have long guessed, I have long feared.'

"'If I could win Beatrice,' said Loftus, 'my mother should never have
another ache nor pain.'

"Then he went back into mother's room, and I stayed outside and thought.
After a time I resolved to come to you. No one knows that I am here."

"What have you come for, Catherine?" asked Beatrice.

"I have come to know what you mean to do. When you see Loftus to-morrow
what will you say to him?"

"What would you say, Catherine? If you did not love a man at all, if he
was absolutely nothing to you, would you give yourself to him? Yourself?
That means all your life, all your days, your young days, your
middle-aged years, your old age, always, till death parts you. Would you
do that, Catherine? Speak for yourself; would you?"

"How old are you, Beatrice?" asked Catherine.

"I am nineteen; never mind my age, that has nothing whatever to say to
the question I want you to answer."

"I asked you abou