self
dissatisfaction were possibilities, and that even a queen absolute might
come under the shadow of each and all. Not that Constance had never been
aware of all these things, but we never can _realize_ what we have never
experienced.

We look sadly sympathetic, and murmur "poor things," when we see some
mourner weeping over a dead loved one, but we never comprehend the
sorrow until we bury our own dead.

Constance had loved Sybil Lamotte as a sister; she thought and sorrowed
not a little over the strange freak Fate had played with her friend's
life, and she wondered often if Doctor Heath had really lost all regard
for her; she knew, as what woman does not, that a warm regard had once
existed; and she assured herself that whether he had or not, was a
matter of no consequence to her. "She had not the slightest interest in
Doctor Heath," so she told Mrs. Aliston, and, like him, she never sought
nor avoided a meeting.

It is singular, however, that a man who possessed for her "not the
slightest interest" should so often present himself to her thoughts, and
certain it is that at this period of our story her mind had a most
provoking habit of running away from a variety of subjects straight to
Clifford Heath, M. D. But women at best are strange creatures, and
subject to singular phenomena.

Mrs. Aliston just here experienced some dissatisfaction; Clifford Heath
was with her a favorite; Francis Lamotte was her pet hatred. To see the
favorite made conspicuous by his absence, and have his name, like that
of a disinherited daughter, tabooed from the family converse, while the
obnoxious Francis, because of his provokingly good behavior, made rapid
strides into the good graces of the queen of the castle, would have
exasperated most good, maneuvering old ladies, but Mrs. Aliston
maneuvered principally for her own comfort, so she sighed a little,
regretted the present state of affairs in a resigned and becoming
manner, ceased to mention the name of Doctor Heath, and condescended to
receive Francis graciously, after that young man had made a special
call, during which he saw only Mrs. Aliston, and apologized amply and
most humbly for his unceremonious ejectment of that lady in favor of
Constance, on the day when the former undertook, "as gently as
possible," to break to him the news of his sister's flight.

To make an apology gracefully is in itself, an art; and this art Francis
Lamotte was skilled in; indeed but for a certai