is very beautiful."

"And yet he only came in and danced with me once!"

"Perhaps he does not care for dancing," said Anne. She was accomplishing
each one of her sentences slowly and carefully, like answers in a
lesson.

"Yes, he does. Do not be deceived by his indolent manner, Crystal; he is
full of all sorts of unexpected strong likings and feelings, in spite of
his lazy look. Do you think I should be likely to fall in love with a
stick?"

Anne made no reply.

"_Do_ you?" said Helen, insistently, stretching out her arms, and
adjusting the chains of topaz stars that decked their slenderness.

Anne leaned forward and drew down her friend's hands, holding them
closely in her own. "Helen," she said, "tell me: do you love Mr.
Heathcote?"

"What is love?" said Mrs. Lorrington, lightly.

"Tell me, Helen."

"Why do you wish to know?"

"I _do_ wish to know."

"Ward Heathcote is not worth my love."

"Is he worth Rachel Bannert's, then?" said Anne, touching the spring by
which she had seen the other stirred.

"Rachel Bannert!" repeated Helen, with a tone of bitter scorn. Then she
paused. "Anne, you are a true-hearted child, and I _will_ tell you. I
love Ward Heathcote with my whole heart and soul."

She spoke in clear tones, and did not turn away or hide her face; she
lay looking up at the moonlight on the rough white wall. It was Anne who
turned, shivering, and shading her eyes with her hand.

"I love him so much," Helen continued, "that if he should leave me, I
believe I should die. Not suddenly, or with any sensation, of course. I
only mean that I should not be able to live."

Again there was silence. Then the clear soft voice went on.

"I have always loved him. Ever since I can remember. Do not be shocked,
but I loved him even when I married Richard. I was very young, and did
it in a sort of desperate revenge because he did not, would not, care
for me. I was not punished for my madness, for Richard loved me dearly,
and died so soon, poor fellow, that he never discovered the truth. And
then it all began over again. Only _this_ time Ward was--different."

Another silence followed. Anne did not move or speak.

"Do not be unhappy about me, child," said Helen at last, turning on her
arm to look at her companion; "all will come right in time. It was only
that I was vexed about this evening. For he has not seemed quite himself
lately, and of course I attribute it to Rachel: her deadly sweetness is
like tha