on the gallery, followed by Nick, who came down the
steps with a careless self-confidence to greet the master. Indeed, a
stranger might have thought that Mr. Temple was the host, and I saw
Antoinette watching him furtively with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

"I am delighted to see you at last, Monsieur," said my cousin. "I am
Nicholas Temple, and I have been your guest for three days."

Had Monsieur de St. Gre been other than the soul of hospitality, it would
have been impossible not to welcome such a guest. Our host had, in
common with his daughter, a sense of humor. There was a quizzical
expression on his fine face as he replied, with the barest glance at
Mademoiselle Antoinette:--

"I trust you have been--well entertained, Mr. Temple. My daughter has
been accustomed only to the society of her brother and cousins."

"Faith, I should not have supposed it," said Nick, instantly, a remark
which caused the color to flush deeply into Mademoiselle's face. I
looked to see Monsieur de St. Gre angry. He tried, indeed, to be grave,
but smiled irresistibly as he mounted the steps to greet his wife, who
stood demurely awaiting his caress. And in this interval Mademoiselle
shot at Nick a swift and withering look as she passed him. He returned a
grimace.

"Messieurs," said Monsieur de St. Gre, turning to us, "dinner will soon
be ready--if you will be so good as to pardon me until then."

Nick followed Mademoiselle with his eyes until she had disappeared beyond
the hall. She did not so much as turn. Then he took me by the arm and
led me to a bench under a magnolia a little distance away, where he
seated himself, and looked up at me despairingly.

"Behold," said he, "what was once your friend and cousin, your
counsellor, sage, and guardian. Behold the clay which conducted you
hither, with the heart neatly but painfully extracted. Look upon a
woman's work, Davy, and shun the sex. I tell you it is better to go
blindfold through life, to have--pardon me--your own blunt features, than
to be reduced to such a pitiable state. Was ever such a refinement of
cruelty practised before? Never! Was there ever such beauty, such
archness, such coquetry,--such damned elusiveness? Never! If there is a
cargo going up the river, let me be salted and lie at the bottom of it.
I'll warrant you I'll not come to life."

"You appear to have suffered somewhat," I said, forgetting for the moment
in my laughter the thing that weighed upon my mind.