y; adding: "You are just a little bit jealous, mother, and
wish to keep me all to yourself, I imagine."

But ere he could reach the bell-rope she had swiftly followed him and
laid a detaining hand on his arm.

She had put off the telling of her story from moment to moment, but it
had to be told now.

"You need not take the trouble to ring that bell," she said, "for it
would be useless--quite useless."

"Why, what do you mean?" he asked, in unfeigned astonishment, thinking
that perhaps she meant to forbid him giving the girl the little ring;
and he grew nettled at that thought.

He said to himself that he was over one-and-twenty, and was entitled to
do as he pleased in such matters.

"Listen, Hubert; I have something to tell you, and you must hear me out.
Come and sit on this sofa beside me. I can tell you better then."

"What is the meaning of all this secrecy, mother?" he cried.

"To begin with," slowly began Mrs. Varrick, "Jessie Bain is no longer
under this roof."

He looked at her as though he did not fully take in the meaning of her
words.

"I will tell you the whole story, my son," she said; "but promise me
first that you will not interrupt me, no matter how much you may be
inclined to do so, and that you will hear without comment all that I
have to say."

"Do I understand you to say that Jessie Bain is not here?" he cried.

"Promise not to interrupt me and I will tell you all."

He bowed his head in acknowledgment, though he did not gratify her by
saying as much in so many words.

Slowly, in a clear, shrill voice, Mrs. Varrick began the story she had
so carefully rehearsed over and over again; but as the words fell from
her lips she could not trust herself to meet the clear, eagle glance her
son bent upon her.

In horror which no pen could fully describe, Hubert Varrick listened to
the story from his mother's lips. In all her life Mrs. Varrick never saw
such a face as her son turned upon her. It was fairly distorted, with
great patches of red here and there upon it.

He set his teeth so hard together that they cut through his lip; then he
raised his clinched hand and shook it in the air, crying in a voice of
bitter rage:

"If an angel from heaven cried out trumpet-tongued that little Jessie
Bain was guilty, I should not believe her-- I would say that it was
false. It is some plan, some deep-laid scheme to blight the life of
Jessie Bain and ruin my happiness--ay, ruin my happiness, I say--for