was very fond of the little lake which occupied so many of Mr.
Wentworth's numerous acres, and of a remarkable pine grove which lay
upon the further side of it, planted upon a steep embankment and haunted
by the summer breeze. The murmur of the air in the far off tree-tops
had a strange distinctness; it was almost articulate. One afternoon
the young man came out of his painting-room and passed the open door of
Eugenia's little salon. Within, in the cool dimness, he saw his sister,
dressed in white, buried in her arm-chair, and holding to her face an
immense bouquet. Opposite to her sat Clifford Wentworth, twirling his
hat. He had evidently just presented the bouquet to the Baroness, whose
fine eyes, as she glanced at him over the big roses and geraniums, wore
a conversational smile. Felix, standing on the threshold of the cottage,
hesitated for a moment as to whether he should retrace his steps and
enter the parlor. Then he went his way and passed into Mr. Wentworth's
garden. That civilizing process to which he had suggested that Clifford
should be subjected appeared to have come on of itself. Felix was very
sure, at least, that Mr. Wentworth had not adopted his ingenious device
for stimulating the young man's aesthetic consciousness. "Doubtless
he supposes," he said to himself, after the conversation that has been
narrated, "that I desire, out of fraternal benevolence, to procure for
Eugenia the amusement of a flirtation--or, as he probably calls it, an
intrigue--with the too susceptible Clifford. It must be admitted--and
I have noticed it before--that nothing exceeds the license occasionally
taken by the imagination of very rigid people." Felix, on his own side,
had of course said nothing to Clifford; but he had observed to Eugenia
that Mr. Wentworth was much mortified at his son's low tastes. "We ought
to do something to help them, after all their kindness to us," he had
added. "Encourage Clifford to come and see you, and inspire him with a
taste for conversation. That will supplant the other, which only comes
from his puerility, from his not taking his position in the world--that
of a rich young man of ancient stock--seriously enough. Make him
a little more serious. Even if he makes love to you it is no great
matter."

"I am to offer myself as a superior form of intoxication--a substitute
for a brandy bottle, eh?" asked the Baroness. "Truly, in this country
one comes to strange uses."

But she had not positively de