ether boldly or not, Hazel
went on with a fair show at least of bravery.

'What was that I was told so impressively yesterday?' she
said. ' "There are circumstances where fear is highly
commendable in a woman, when it is yet not desirable in a
man." And after all that, did you not speed away like a very
poltroon, and leave me to face everything by myself? Confess,
Mr. Rollo!' The demure eyes were brimming with fun.

'How much did you have to face?' asked the gentleman taking
another roll.

'Ten people and two catechisms. And if Madame Lasalle says
true--Have you a sketching club here? and is she its
president?'

'We have no such club--and it has no such president--and whether
Madame Lasalle says true is a matter entirely unknown to me.
Do you say you are going fishing to-day, Miss Kennedy?'

'Mr. Falkirk told Madame Lasalle I might. And she is to "tell
me everything,"--fill up her sketches, I suppose; so the sport
may be extensive. Yesterday her pencil marks were delightfully
indistinct, and made the most charming confusion between cats
and dogs and canary birds. Miss Maryland was a preacher, her
father the personification of imprudence, and you--'

She had run on in a sort of gleeful play, not at all guessing
what the pencil marks really meant, and stopped short now only
for fear her play might chafe.

'What was I?' said Rollo, with a quietness that was evidently
careless.

'You,' said Wych Hazel impressively, 'were (in a general way)
a Norwegian, a Dane,--making your way everywhere and laying
waste the country.'

Something in Mr. Falkirk's face as she finished these words
made her instinct take alarm. The colour mounted suddenly.

'O, please do not speak to me again--anybody!' she said,
looking down. 'I was all alone yesterday afternoon, and had to
descend into the depths of Morton Hollow--and I believe I am a
little wild at getting back. And Mr. Morton, sir--O, you have
not asked what he said to me!' She checked her self again, too
late! Whatever should she do with her tongue to keep it still.
The Camille de Rohan at her belt was hardly deeper dyed than
she.

'What about Mr. Morton?' said Rollo. 'Forgive somebody for
speaking--but it was impossible to ask without!'

'O--nothing--only a compliment for Mr. Falkirk,' said the girl,
trying to rally. 'And Mr. Falkirk had said--And I have lived so
long alone with Mr. Falkirk that I have got into a very bad
habit of forgetting that anybody else can be pr