ents upon Gowan's attentions to her, and on his return to
his lodgings at night he had appealed to her in a passionate epistle.

He was not going to doubt her again, he said, and he was struggling to
face the matter coolly, but he wanted to see her. It would be worse than
useless to call upon her at the Lodge, and have an interview under the
disapproving eyes of Miss MacDowlas, and so he had thought they might
meet again by appointment, as they had done before by chance. And Dolly
had acquiesced at once. But Fortune was against her. Just as she had
been ready to leave the house, Ralph Gowan had made his appearance, and
Miss MacDowlas had called her down-stairs to entertain him.

"I would not have cared about telling," cried Dolly, in tears, "but I
could not tell her, and so I had to stay, and--actually--_sing_--Aimee.
Yes, sing detestable love-sick songs, while my own darling, whom I was
_dying_ to go to, was waiting outside in the cold. And that was not the
worst, either. He was just outside in the road, and when the servants
lighted the gas he saw me through the window. And I was at the
piano"--in a burst--"and Ralph Gowan was standing by me. And so he went
home and wrote _that_," signifying with a gesture the letter Aimee held.
"And everything is wrong again."

It was very plain that everything _was_ wrong again. The epistle in
question was an impetuous, impassioned effusion enough. He was furious
against Gowan, and bitter against everybody else. She had cheated and
slighted and trifled with him when he most needed her love and pity; but
he would not blame her, he could only blame himself for being such an
insane, presumptuous fool as to fancy that anything he had to offer
could be worthy of any woman.

What had he to offer, etc., for half a dozen almost illegible pages,
dashed and crossed, and all on fire with his bitterness and pain.

Having taken it from Aimee, and read it for the twentieth time, Dolly
fairly wrung her hands over it.

"If we were only just _together!_" she cried. "If we only just had the
tiniest, shabbiest house in the world, and could be married and help
each other! He does n't mean to be unjust or unkind, you know, Aimee; he
would be more wretched than I am if he knew how unhappy he has made me."

"Ah!" sighed Aimee. "He should think of that before he begins."

Then she regained possession of the letter, and smoothed out its creases
on her knee, finishing by folding it carefully and retur