oin in the kindest regards. Mr. D. is talking with
Genevieve while I write, and has our darling Bice on his knees.
You cannot imagine what a picture it makes, her childish delicacy
contrasted with his stalwart strength. She says to send you a
baciettino, and I wish you were here to receive it from her angel
lips. Yours faithfully,

"MEDORA VOSTRAND.

"P. S.--Mr. D. says that he fell in love with Genevieve across the
barrier between the first and second cabin when he came over with us
on the Aquitaine four years ago, and that he has never ceased to
love her, though at one time he persuaded himself that he cared for
another because he felt that she was lost to him forever, and it was
no use: He really did care for the lady he was engaged to, and had a
true affection for her, which he mistook for a warmer feeling. He
says that she was worthy of any man's love and of the highest
respect. I tell Genevieve that, she ought to honor him for it, and
that she must never be jealous of a memory. We are very happy in
Mr. Vostrand's cordial approval of the match. He is so glad to
think that Mr. D. is a business man. His cable from Seattle was
most enthusiastic.

"M. D."

Westover did not know whether to laugh or cry when he read this letter,
which covered several sheets of paper in lines that traversed each other
in different directions. His old, youthful ideal of Mrs. Vostrand finally
perished in its presence, though still he could not blame her for wishing
to see her daughter well married after having seen her married so ill. He
asked himself, without getting any very definite response, whether Mrs.
Vostrand had always been this kind of a woman, or had grown into it by
the use of arts which her peculiar plan of life had rendered necessary to
her. He remembered the intelligent toleration of Cynthia in speaking of
her, and his indignation in behalf of the girl was also thrill of joy for
her escape from the fate which Mrs. Vostrand was so eagerly invoking for
her daughter. But he thought of Genevieve with something of the same
tenderness, and with a compassion that was for her alone. She seemed to
him a victim who was to be sacrificed a second time, and he had clearly a
duty to her which he must not evade. The only question could be how best
to discharge it, and Westover took some hours from his work to turn the
question over in his mind. In the