y, and come
downstairs. He is waiting to take you to ride."

She had not seen her guardian since he left Olga's sofa the previous
day, and answered without reflection.

"Ask him to excuse me. I am not very well, and prefer remaining in my
own room."

From the foot of the stairs, Mr. Palma's voice responded:

"Fresh air will benefit you. I insist upon your coming immediately."

She leaned over the railing, and saw him buttoning his overcoat.

"Please, Mr. Palma, excuse me to-day."

"Pardon me, I cannot. The carriage is waiting."

She was tempted to rebel outright, to absolutely refuse obedience to
his authority, which threatened her with the dreaded interview, but a
moment's reflection taught her that resistance to his stubborn will
was useless, and she went reluctantly downstairs, forgetting her
gloves in her trepidation. He handed her into the carriage, took a
seat beside her, and directed Farley to drive to Central Park.

The day though cold was very bright, and he partly lowered the silk
curtains to shut out the glare of the sun. For a half-hour they
rolled along the magnificent Avenue, and only casual observations
upon weather, passing equipages, and similar trivial topics, afforded
Regina time to compose her perturbed thoughts. With his overcoat
buttoned tight across his broad chest, and hat drawn a little low on
his brow, Mr. Palma sat, holding his gloved fingers interlaced; and
his brilliant eyes rested now and then very searching upon the face
at his side, which was almost as white as the snowy fur sack that
enveloped her.

"What is the matter with your cheek?" he said at length.

"Why do you ask?" She instantly shielded it with her hand.

"It has a slightly bluish, bruised appearance."

"It is of no consequence, and will soon disappear."

"Olga must indeed have struck you a heavy blow, to leave a mark that
lingers so long. She told me how desperately you wrestled to stay her
suicidal course, and as a family we owe you much for your firm brave
resistance."

"I am sorry she has betrayed what passed. I hoped you would never
suspect the distressing facts."

"When a girl deliberately defies parental wishes and counsel, and
scorns the advice and expostulation of those whom experience has
taught something of life and the world, her fate sooner or later is
sad as Olga's. A foolish caprice which young ladies invariably
denominate 'love,' but which is generally merely flattered vanity,
not unfrequent