lp but be strange to you at first, and you must
feel a trifle forlorn and miserable--at least I should think so----"

Lesley was in a dilemma. Kenyon's words were so true, so apt, that they
brought involuntary tears to her eyes. She could get rid of the lump in
her throat only by working herself up into a rage: she could dissipate
the tears only by making her eyes flash with anger. The melting mood was
not to her taste. She chose the more hostile tone.

"Mr. Kenyon, excuse me, but you have no right at all to talk about my
being miserable. You may know my father: you do not know me."

"But knowing your father so well----"

"That has nothing to do with it. Am I not a separate human being? What
have you to do with me and my feelings? You say that I do not know
English ways--is it an English way," cried Lesley, indignantly, "to try
to thrust yourself into a girl's confidence, and intrude where you have
not been asked to enter? Then English ways are not those that I
approve."

Maurice Kenyon felt that his cause was lost. He had gone rather white
about the lips as he listened to Lesley's protest. Of course, he had
offended her by his abominable want of tact, he told himself--his
intrusive proffer of unneeded sympathy and help. But it was not in his
nature to acknowledge himself beaten, and to take his leave without a
word. His ardor impelled him to speak.

"Miss Brooke, I most sincerely beg your pardon," he said, in tones of
deep humility. "I see that I have made a mistake--but I assure you that
it was from the purest motives. I don't"--forgetting his apologetic
attitude for a moment--"I _don't_ think that you realize what a truly
great man your father is--how good, as well as great. I _don't_ think
you understand him. But I beg your pardon for seeming to think that I
could enlighten you. Of course, it must seem like impertinent
interference to you. But if you knew"--with a tremor of disappointment
in his voice--"what your father has been to me, you would not perhaps be
so surprised at my wanting his daughter to sympathize with me in my
feelings. I had no idea"--this was intended to be a Parthian shot--"that
my admiration would be thought insulting."

He bowed very low, and turned to depart, vowing to himself that nothing
would induce him ever to enter that drawing-room again; but Lesley, pale
and wide-eyed, called him back.

"Stay, Mr. Kenyon," she said, rising from her seat.

He halted, his hat in one hand, his fi