with all men, but
her opportunity for playing her harmless batteries upon Bernard were of
course exceptionally large. The poor fellow was perpetually under fire,
and it was inevitable that he should reply with some precision of aim.
It seemed to him all child's play, and it is certain that when his back
was turned to his pretty hostess he never found himself thinking of
her. He had not the least reason to suppose that she thought of
him--excessive concentration of mind was the last vice of which he
accused her. But before the winter was over, he discovered that Mrs.
Gordon Wright was being talked about, and that his own name was, as the
newspapers say, mentioned in connection with that of his friend's wife.
The discovery greatly disgusted him; Bernard Longueville's chronicler
must do him the justice to say that it failed to yield him an even
transient thrill of pleasure. He thought it very improbable that this
vulgar rumor had reached Gordon's ears; but he nevertheless--very
naturally--instantly made up his mind to leave the house. He lost
no time in saying to Gordon that he had suddenly determined to go to
California, and that he was sure he must be glad to get rid of him.
Gordon expressed no surprise and no regret. He simply laid his hand on
his shoulder and said, very quietly, looking at him in the eyes--

"Very well; the pleasantest things must come to an end."

It was not till an hour afterwards that Bernard said to himself that his
friend's manner of receiving the announcement of his departure had been
rather odd. He had neither said a word about his staying longer nor
urged him to come back again, and there had been (it now seemed to
Bernard) an audible undertone of relief in the single sentence with
which he assented to his visitor's withdrawal. Could it be possible that
poor Gordon was jealous of him, that he had heard this loathsome gossip,
or that his own observation had given him an alarm? He had certainly
never betrayed the smallest sense of injury; but it was to be remembered
that even if he were uneasy, Gordon was quite capable, with his
characteristic habit of weighing everything, his own honor included, in
scrupulously adjusted scales, of denying himself the luxury of active
suspicion. He would never have let a half suspicion make a difference
in his conduct, and he would not have dissimulated; he would simply have
resisted belief. His hospitality had been without a flaw, and if he
had really been wis