desired me to accompany her,' he said, coldly, 'so I shall
be obliged to force myself upon your society.'

"'Are you not too modest in your estimate of yourself?' I asked with a
laugh, that even to my own ears, sounded so harsh and mocking, that I
scarcely recognized it as my own.

"He gave me another of those quick, strange glances. It was too late to
attempt to soften my judgments or opinions now, by looks or words. While
hating myself for the thoughts that tormented me, I could neither return
to my old faith or believe in the evil that disturbed it.

"'I fear I hardly appreciate satire,' he said, gravely.

"'No!' returned I, laughingly. 'You must cultivate a taste for it--read
the old English humorists.'

"'Certainly Miss Crawford seems to have been studying the art lately
with great diligence, if one may judge from the results.'

"'That is a somewhat doubtful compliment, still I must take it for
granted that you meant it to be one,' said I. 'But I cannot wait to
listen--Mrs. Harrington is wondering what I am about, I dare say.'

"'And we are not friends any longer? 'he asked with a sudden change of
manner, extending his hand as he spoke.

"'The best of friends, certainly,' I answered, 'only I have not time
just now to talk about the matter.'

"I pretended not to notice his offered hand, and ran away down the
corridor. I glanced back as I reached his mother's door. He was still
standing where I had left him--he was looking after me. All this seemed
needless duplicity, and only made me feel more harshly toward him. I
would not have touched his hand then for the world. Why did he wish to
keep up the farce of trying to make me believe that my opinion was of
consequence to him? Perhaps from that absorbing vanity which so many men
are said to possess, which makes them unwilling to suppose that any
woman in the world is absolutely indifferent to them.

"I went back to Mrs. Harrington, and sat reading to her for a long time.
Then my maid came to help her dress--we had both forgotten how late it
was. The carriage was already at the door.

"Lucy Eaton was ready when we sent for her, and in the salon. Mr.
Harrington joined us, so we went out for our drive. It was almost
sunset, one of those glorious days that it seems to me only Spain can
show in their full perfection. Italy even falls short. There is a
softness, a witchery, an absolute intoxication about them, which must be
felt in order to be understood; but any