nothing so very wonderful if he has
been rather confidential with a steady married woman like me--just the
right person, in short. It was for your good too, my dear. I am sure I
asked him plainly if he ever could think of marrying you. But he shook
his head, and answered, 'No, that was quite impossible.'"

"Quite impossible, indeed," said Agatha, her proud lips quivering. "And
should he favour you with any more confidences, you may tell him that
Agatha Bowen never knew what it was to be 'in love' with any man.
Likewise, that were he the only man on earth, she would not condescend
to fall in love with or marry Major Frederick Harper.--Now, Emma, let us
go down to lunch."

They would have done so, after Mrs. Thornycroft had kissed and embraced
her friend, in sincere delight that Agatha was quite heart-whole, and
ready to make what she called "a sensible marriage," but they were
stopped on the stairs by a letter that came by post.

"A strange hand," Miss Bowen observed, carelessly. "Will you go
down-stairs, Emma, and I will come when I have read it."

But Agatha did not read it. She threw it on the floor, and turning the
bolt of the door, paced her little drawing-room in extreme agitation.

"I am glad I did not love him--I thank God I did not love him," she
muttered by fits. "But I might have done so, so good and kind as he was,
and I so young, with no one to care for. And no one cares for me--no
one--no one!"

"Young Northen" darted through her mind, but she laughed to scorn the
possibility. What love could there be in an empty-headed fool?

"Never any but fools have ever made love to me! Oh, if an honest, noble
man did but love me, and I could marry, and get out of this friendless
desolation, this contemptible, scheming, match-making set, where I and
my feelings are talked of, speculated on, bandied about from house to
house. It is horrible--horrible! But I'll not cry! No!"

She dried the tears that were scorching her eyes, and mechanically took
up her letter; until, remembering how long she had been upstairs, and
how all that time Emma's transparent disposition and love of talk might
have laid her and her whole affairs open before the Iansons, she
quickly put the epistle in her pocket unread, and went down into the
dining-room.

It was not till night, when she sat idly brushing out her long curls,
and looking at her Pawnee face in the mirror--alas! the poor face now
seemed browner and uglier than ever!--that