composure she
said aloud, "What does he mean? I never received a note."

"I know it, I know it," hastily spoke J.C., and coming to her side
he handed her the soiled missive, saying, "It came a long time ago,
and was mislaid among my papers, until this letter recalled it to my
mind. There is nothing in it of any consequence, I dare say, and had
it not been sealed I might, perhaps, have read it, for as the doctor
says, `It's a maxim of mine that a wife should have no secrets from
her husband,' hey, Maude?" and he caressed her burning cheek, as she
read the note which, had it been earlier received, might have
changed her whole after life.

And still it was not one-half as affectionate in its tone as was the
last, for it began with, "Cousin Maude" and ended with "Yours
respectfully," but she knew he had been true to his promise, and
without a suspicion that J.C. had deceived her she placed the
letters in her pocket, to be read again when she was alone, and
could measure every word and sentiment.

That afternoon when she went to her chamber to make some changes in
her dress she found herself standing before the mirror much longer
than usual, examining minutely the face which James De Vere had
called beautiful.

"He thought so, or he would not have said it; but it is false," she
whispered; "even J.C. never called me handsome;" and taking out the
note that day received, she read it again, wondering why the name
"Cousin Maude" did not sound as pleasantly as when she first heard
it.

That night as she sat with Louis in her room she showed the letters
to him, at the same time explaining the reason why one of them was
not received before.

"Oh, I am so glad," said Louis, as he finished reading them, "for
now I know that James De Vere don't like you."

"Don't like me, Louis!" and in Maude's voice there was a world of
sadness.

"I mean," returned Louis, "that he don't love you for anything but a
cousin. I like J.C. very, very much, and I am glad you are to be his
wife; but I've sometimes thought that if you had waited the other
one would have spoken, for I was almost sure he loved you, but he
don't, I know; he couldn't be so pleased with your engagement, nor
write you so affectionately if he really cared."

Maude hardly knew whether she were pleased or not with Louis'
reasoning. It was true, though, she said, and inasmuch as James did
not care for her, and she did not care for James, she was very glad
she was engaged