shall go on the stage."

"There is no necessity for that, is there?"

"Necessity! You mean that I have not to earn my bread. That may be
true, but what would you have me to do? I am not content to be one of
your English young ladies--to sit down, and learn to cook and darn,
and read silly books, until fate is kind enough to send me a husband.
Not so. I have ambition; I have an artist's instincts, although I may
not yet be an artist. I must live; I must have light and colour in my
life."

Paul was very grave. He did not understand this new phase in
Adrea's development. There was a curious hardness in her tone and a
recklessness in her speech which were strange to him. And with it
all he felt very helpless. He could not play the part of guardian and
reprove her; he scarcely knew how to argue with her. Women and their
ways were strange to him; and, besides, Adrea was so different.

He stood up on the hearthrug, toying with his long riding-whip,
puzzled and unhappy. Adrea was angry with him, he knew; and though he
was very anxious to set himself right with her, he felt that he was
treading on dangerous ground. He was neither sure of himself nor of
her.

"I am afraid I am a very poor counsellor, Adrea," he said slowly; "but
it seems to me that you want women friends. Your life has been too
lonely, too devoid of feminine interests."

She laughed--a mirthless, unpleasant little laugh. "Women friends!
Good! You say that I have none. It is true. There have been no
women who have offered me their friendship in this country. You call
yourself my guardian. Why do you not find me some?"

"You have made it very difficult," he reminded her.

She threw a scornful glance at him. "Good! That is generous. You mean
to say that I have made myself unfit for the friendship of the
women of your family. I thank you, Monsieur Paul. I think that our
conversation has lasted long enough. Let me pass; I am going to leave
you."

He moved quickly towards the door, and barred her passage. There was
a dark flush in his cheeks and a gleam in his eyes. Up till then his
manner had been a little deprecating, but at her last words it had
suddenly changed. He felt that she was unjust, and he was indignant.

"Adrea, you talk like a child," he said sternly. "I made no such
insinuation as you suggest! You know that I did not! Sit down!"

She obeyed him; the quick change in his manner had startled her, and
taken her at a disadvantage. She felt the