but one stretch of mutual love.

"Ah love! What is love?" she said to herself. But immediately a
score of answers came; a dozen vague definitions presented
themselves. "Certainly," she mused, "the parents who toil for their
children without thinking of reward; love." Then another self within
her answered: "It is their duty." "Their duty, yes, but they are not
often actuated by a sense of duty; I think it is love."

Then she thought about another kind of love--the love she felt for
Frank Mathers. She asked herself why she loved him. He was not bold,
and she admired boldness. That she loved him, however, she was
certain. Did he love her? "Yes," she thought he did. Then what kept
them apart? Who was the cause of it? Her father. "What a pity I have
such a father," she sighed; "not content with making himself
miserable, he makes me pass a life of anxiety."

At this stage of her soliloquy, she perceived a young man, whom she
quickly recognized as Tom, her cousin from the "Prenoms." He came
walking towards the house.

As he opened the little gate he smiled broadly. His smile was not a
pleasant one, because it was undefined. "Good-evening, Adele," he
said when he came near to her. "How are you?"

"Quite well thank you," she said, "and how are you?"

"Well enough, thanks," he returned, a little cooled down, for she
did not take the preferred hand which he was tending towards her.

"Are you afraid to shake hands with me?" he asked, half smiling,
half vexed.

"My gloves are soiled," replied she, taking off her right hand
glove; afterwards shaking hands with him.

"Oh, I see," he said, quite satisfied with the excuse.

In reality, Adele had not seen the preferred hand; she was busy with
her thoughts just then. His manner seemed repulsive to her; she knew
not why. She opened the front door and showed him into the parlour.
Her father was there, evidently expecting Tom, for he received him
with a warmth which he had not shown for a long time. She left them
to themselves and was proceeding towards her parterre when her
father called out to her.

"What! are you going, Adele, when Mr. Soher is here; come and keep
us company."

The girl retraced her steps. What could her father mean? He had not
told her a word about her cousin's visit, and yet, it was evident he
was expecting him.

"Where's your violin?" questioned her father.

Adele fetched the desired instrument. She felt very much like an
instrument herself. "Father