in love with Phillida? Or did he know anything to the
disadvantage of Millard?

"Tell Mr. Philip I wish to see him before he goes out," she said to one
of the maids.

When Philip came to her room she looked at him with anxiety.

"Do you know anything against Charley, Philip?"

"Nothing whatever," said Philip, emphatically, as he pulled on his
gloves.

"Philip, tell me truly, do you care for your cousin yourself?"

"Why, of course. She is my cousin, and a good girl--a little too
fearfully good."

"You know what I mean, Philip. Don't trifle with me."

"What would be the use of my caring for Phillida, as you call it?
Charley, with his usual luck, will get her, I am sure. You've fixed
that."

"Now, Philip, you reproach me unjustly. You've had years of intimacy
with Phillida. Why did you never let her know what your feelings were?"

"I? I haven't said that I have any feelings in the matter. Do you think
Phillida would have me if Charley were out of the way? She knows me too
well. She's a utilitarian. She would say, 'Cousin Phil is interesting,
but he hides his talent in a napkin. He studied law, and now neglects to
practise it because his uncle left him two or three thousand dollars a
year.' To her I am only an idler, when I'm not a mocker."

"She likes you, I am sure."

"Yes, in a way, no doubt. But I'm a doubter, and a mocker, and a
failure, and Phillida knows it. And so do I."

"Ah, now, Philip, why will you be so discouraged with yourself? You're
the cleverest young man in New York."

But Philip only smiled and said, "Good-morning, mother," and ran down
the stairs and out the door.

When Philip had left Millard in Second Avenue the evening before, the
latter was puzzled. He had never seen Gouverneur so depressed and
irritable. But when they had separated, Millard was relieved that he no
longer had to force a conversation about things of no interest to
himself, and that his thoughts were at length free to range where they
would.

He turned his footsteps towards his apartment, making a detour through
Madison Square to lengthen the stroll. His interest in and affection for
the family of his aunt was a fact so paradoxical to the rest of his life
that it was in some sense his main secret. It was not a thing he should
like to have explained to Philip Gouverneur, his bosom friend, for
example. But that Phillida Callender was now in possession of the chief
secret of his life gave him a sort of pleasure he h