it's his love for Me."

"Call it what you like," retorted Mr. Clare. "Sneak or Sweetheart
--he's too slippery, in either capacity, for my fingers to hold him.
My shutting the door won't keep him from coming back. Your shutting the
door will. Have you the courage to shut it? Are you fond enough of him
not to stand in his light?"

"Fond! I would die for him!"

"Will you send him to China?"

She sighed bitterly.

"Have a little pity for me," she said. "I have lost my father; I have
lost my mother; I have lost my fortune--and now I am to lose Frank. You
don't like women, I know; but try to help me with a little pity. I don't
say it's not for his own interests to send him to China; I only say it's
hard--very, very hard on _me_."

Mr. Clare had been deaf to her violence, insensible to her caresses,
blind to her tears; but under the tough integument of his philosophy
he had a heart--and it answered that hopeless appeal; it felt those
touching words.

"I don't deny that your case is a hard one," he said. "I don't want to
make it harder. I only ask you to do in Frank's interests what Frank
is too weak to do for himself. It's no fault of yours; it's no fault
of mine--but it's not the less true that the fortune you were to have
brought him has changed owners."

She suddenly looked up, with a furtive light in her eyes, with a
threatening smile on her lips.

"It may change owners again," she said.

Mr. Clare saw the alteration in her expression, and heard the tones of
her voice. But the words were spoken low; spoken as if to herself--they
failed to reach him across the breadth of the room. He stopped instantly
in his walk and asked what she had said.

"Nothing," she answered, turning her head away toward the window, and
looking out mechanically at the falling rain. "Only my own thoughts."

Mr. Clare resumed his walk, and returned to his subject.

"It's your interest," he went on, "as well as Frank's interest, that he
should go. He may make money enough to marry you in China; he can't make
it here. If he stops at home, he'll be the ruin of both of you. He'll
shut his eyes to every consideration of prudence, and pester you to
marry him; and when he has carried his point, he will be the first to
turn round afterward and complain that you're a burden on him. Hear me
out! You're in love with Frank--I'm not, and I know him. Put you two
together often enough; give him time enough to hug, cry, pester, and
plead; and I'll te