thoughts, she
satisfied my curiosity without committing herself to a reply in words.
Her large gray eyes sparkled as they rested on my face, and she hummed
the tune of the old French song, _"C'est l'amour, l'amour, l'amour!"_
There is no disguising it--something in this disclosure made me
excessively angry. Was I angry with Miss Melbury? or with Mr. Sax? or
with myself? I think it must have been with myself.

Finding that I had nothing to say on my side, Mrs. Fosdyke looked at her
watch, and remembered her domestic duties. To my relief, our interview
came to an end.

"I have a dinner-party to-day," she said, "and I have not seen the
housekeeper yet. Make yourself beautiful, Miss Morris, and join us in
the drawing-room after dinner."

V.

I WORE my best dress; and, in all my life before, I never took such
pains with my hair. Nobody will be foolish enough, I hope, to suppose
that I did this on Mr. Sax's account. How could I possibly care about
a man who was little better than a stranger to me? No! the person I
dressed at was Miss Melbury.

She gave me a look, as I modestly placed myself in a corner, which amply
rewarded me for the time spent on my toilet. The gentlemen came in.
I looked at Mr. Sax (mere curiosity) under shelter of my fan. His
appearance was greatly improved by evening dress. He discovered me in
my corner, and seemed doubtful whether to approach me or not. I was
reminded of our first odd meeting; and I could not help smiling as I
called it to mind. Did he presume to think that I was encouraging him?
Before I could decide that question, he took the vacant place on the
sofa. In any other man--after what had passed in the morning--this would
have been an audacious proceeding. _He_ looked so painfully embarrassed,
that it became a species of Christian duty to pity him.

"Won't you shake hands?" he said, just as he had said it at Sandwich.

I peeped round the corner of my fan at Miss Melbury. She was looking at
us. I shook hands with Mr. Sax.

"What sort of sensation is it," he asked, "when you shake hands with a
man whom you hate?"

"I really can't tell you," I answered innocently; "I have never done
such a thing."

"You would not lunch with me at Sandwich," he protested; "and, after the
humblest apology on my part, you won't forgive me for what I did this
morning. Do you expect me to believe that I am not the special object of
your antipathy? I wish I had never met with you! At my age, a man gets