d that you would show only one quarter of the
pleasure that she did in my society; would blush and smile as she did;
would look sad when I was dull, and laugh when I was merry; so that I
might flatter myself that your heart was won. But as to _loving_
her,--pooh! Mrs. Graham's poodle-dog might as well try to rival you as
that soft----"

"Stop! stop!" exclaimed Gertrude; "for _my_ sake, if not for your _own_!
Oh, how----" She could say no more; but, sinking into a seat, burst into
tears, and hiding her face in her hands, as had been her habit in
childhood, wept without restraint.

Mr. Bruce stood by in utter amazement; at last he approached her, and
asked, in a low voice, "What is the matter? what have I done?"

It was some minutes before she could reply; then, lifting her head, and
tossing the hair from her forehead, she displayed features expressive
only of the deepest grief, and said, in broken accents, "What have you
done? Oh, how can you ask? She is gentle, and amiable, and affectionate.
She loves everybody, and trusts everybody. You have _deceived_ her, and
_I_ was the cause of it. Oh, how, how could you do it!"

Ben exclaimed, "She will get over it." "Get over _what_!" said Gertrude;
"her love for you? Perhaps so; I know not how deep it is. But, think of
her happy, trusting nature, and how it has been betrayed! Think how she
believed your flattering words, and how hollow they were, all the while!
Think how her confidence has been abused! how that fatherless and
motherless girl, who had a claim to the sympathy of all the world, has
been taught a lesson of distrust."

"I didn't think you would take it so," said Ben.

"How else could I view it?" asked Gertrude; "could you expect that such
a course would win my respect?"

"You take it very seriously, Gertrude; such flirtations are common."

"I am sorry to hear it," said Gertrude. "To my mind, unversed in the
ways of society, it is a dreadful thing to trifle thus with a human
heart. Whether Kitty loves you is not for me to say; but what opinion,
alas! will she have of your sincerity?"

"I think you're rather hard, Miss Gertrude, when it was my love for you
that prompted my conduct."

"Perhaps I am," said Gertrude. "It is not my place to censure; I speak
only from the impulse of my heart. One orphan girl's warm defence of
another is but natural. Perhaps she views the thing lightly, and does
not _need_ an advocate; but, oh, Mr. Bruce, do not think so meanly of