uch fun to see you wince when I
did it. It was cruel to tease you so, I suppose, but it was so sweet
just to be loved for myself--not because I was an heiress and a
belle--I couldn't bear to tell you the truth. Did you think I
couldn't read your thoughts this afternoon, when I insisted on going
ashore? You were a little ashamed of me--you know you were. I didn't
blame you for that, but if you hadn't gone ashore and taken me as you
did I would never have spoken to you again. Mrs. Keyton-Wells won't
snub me next time we meet. And some way I don't think your father will
turn you out, either. Have you forgiven me yet, Burton?"

"I shall never call you anything but Nelly," said Winslow
irrelevantly.

The Red Room

You would have me tell you the story, Grandchild? 'Tis a sad one and
best forgotten--few remember it now. There are always sad and dark
stories in old families such as ours.

Yet I have promised and must keep my word. So sit down here at my feet
and rest your bright head on my lap, that I may not see in your young
eyes the shadows my story will bring across their bonny blue.

I was a mere child when it all happened, yet I remember it but too
well, and I can recall how pleased I was when my father's stepmother,
Mrs. Montressor--she not liking to be called grandmother, seeing she
was but turned of fifty and a handsome woman still--wrote to my mother
that she must send little Beatrice up to Montressor Place for the
Christmas holidays. So I went joyfully though my mother grieved to
part with me; she had little to love save me, my father, Conrad
Montressor, having been lost at sea when but three months wed.

My aunts were wont to tell me how much I resembled him, being, so they
said, a Montressor to the backbone; and this I took to mean
commendation, for the Montressors were a well-descended and
well-thought-of family, and the women were noted for their beauty.
This I could well believe, since of all my aunts there was not one but
was counted a pretty woman. Therefore I took heart of grace when I
thought of my dark face and spindling shape, hoping that when I should
be grown up I might be counted not unworthy of my race.

The Place was an old-fashioned, mysterious house, such as I delighted
in, and Mrs. Montressor was ever kind to me, albeit a little stern,
for she was a proud woman and cared but little for children, having
none of her own.

But there were books there to pore over without let or hindra