his good looks and the brilliancy of his
conversation. The refusal, then, came to her not only as an
absolute surprise, but as a shock.

She considered that Bertha had certainly given him, as well as
everyone else, reason to suppose that she intended to accept him.
Many of her intimate friends had spoken to her as if the affair was
already a settled matter, and when it became known that Bertha had
refused him, she would be set down as a flirt, and it would
certainly injure her prospects of making the sort of match that she
desired. She had said something of all this to the girl, and had
only received the reply:

"I know what I am doing, mamma. I can understand that you thought I
was going to marry him. I thought so myself, but something has
happened that has opened my eyes, and I have every reason to be
thankful that it has. I dare say you think that I have behaved very
badly, and I am sorry; but I am sure that I am doing right now."

"What have you discovered, Bertha? I don't understand you at all."

"I don't suppose you do, mamma. I cannot tell you what it is. I
told him that I would not tell anybody."

"But you don't seem to mind, Bertha; that is what puzzles me. A
girl who has made up her mind to accept a man, and who finds out
something that seems to her so bad that she rejects him, would
naturally be distressed and upset. You seem to treat it as if it
were a matter of no importance."

"I don't quite understand it myself, mamma. I suppose that my eyes
have been opened altogether. At any rate, I feel that I have had a
very narrow escape. I was certainly very much worried when I first
learned about this, two days ago, and I was even distressed; but I
think that I have got over the worry, and I am sure that I have
quite got over the distress."

"Then you cannot have cared for him," Lady Greendale said,
emphatically.

"That is just the conclusion that I have arrived at myself, mamma,"
Bertha said, calmly. "I certainly thought that I did, and now I
feel sure that I was mistaken altogether."

Lady Greendale could say nothing further.

"I had better send off a note to Frank, my dear," she said,
plaintively. "Of course you are not thinking of going out sailing
after this."

"Indeed, I am, mamma. Why shouldn't we? Of course I am not going to
say anything here of what has happened. If he chooses to talk about
it he can, but I don't suppose that he will. It is just the end of
the season, and we need not go bac