avagant language. "I feel like
a mother to you," she went on, as we shook hands at parting. "I declare
I could almost let you kiss me."

There was not a single kissable place about Mrs. Eyrecourt, unpainted,
undyed, or unpowdered. I resisted temptation and opened the door. There
was still one last request that I could not help making.

"Will you let me know," I said, "when you hear from Rome?"

"With the greatest pleasure," Mrs. Eyrecourt answered, briskly.
"Good-by, you best of friends--good-by."

I write these lines while the servant is packing my portmanteau.
Traveler knows what that means. My dog is glad, at any rate, to get away
from London. I think I shall hire a yacht, and try what a voyage round
the world will do for me. I wish to God I had never seen Stella!

Second Extract.

Beaupark, February 10.--News at last from Mrs. Eyrecourt.

Romayne has not even read the letter that she addressed to him--it has
actually been returned to her by Father Benwell. Mrs. Eyrecourt writes,
naturally enough, in a state of fury. Her one consolation, under
this insulting treatment, is that her daughter knows nothing of the
circumstances. She warns me (quite needlessly) to keep the secret--and
sends me a copy of Father Benwell's letter:

"Dear Madam--Mr. Romayne can read nothing that diverts his attention
from his preparation for the priesthood, or that recalls past
associations with errors which he has renounced forever. When a letter
reaches him, it is his wise custom to look at the signature first.
He has handed your letter to me, _unread_--with a request that I will
return it to you. In his presence, I instantly sealed it up. Neither he
nor I know, or wish to know, on what subject you have addressed him. We
respectfully advise you not to write again."

This is really too bad; but it has one advantage, so far as I am
concerned. It sets my own unworthy doubts and jealousies before me in a
baser light than ever. How honestly I defended Father Benwell! and how
completely he has deceived me! I wonder whether I shall live long enough
to see the Jesuit caught in one of his own traps?

11th.--I was disappointed at not hearing from Stella, yesterday. This
morning has made amends; it has brought me a letter from her.

She is not well; and her mother's conduct sadly perplexes her. At one
time, Mrs. Eyrecourt's sense of injury urges her to indulge in violent
measures--she is eager to place her deserted daughter under the
prot