etween us. I then saw you for the first time,
and I have not seen you since. It is impossible for me to assert the
claim of a perfect stranger, like yourself, to fill a situation of
trust. I must beg to decline acting as your reference.

"Your obedient servant,

"ABEL GRACEDIEU."

.......

My father was still at the window.

In that idle position he could hardly complain of me for interrupting
him, if I ventured to talk about the letters which I had put together.
If my curiosity displeased him, he had only to say so, and there would
be an end to any allusions of mine to the subject. My first idea was to
join him at the window. On reflection, and still perceiving that he kept
his back turned on me, I thought it might be more prudent to remain at
the table.

"This Miss Chance seems to be an impudent person?" I said.

"Yes."

"Was she a young woman, when you met with her?"

"Yes."

"What sort of a woman to look at? Ugly?"

"No."

Here were three answers which Eunice herself would have been quick
enough to interpret as three warnings to say no more. I felt a little
hurt by his keeping his back turned on me. At the same time, and
naturally, I think, I found my interest in Miss Chance (I don't say my
friendly interest) considerably increased by my father's unusually rude
behavior. I was also animated by an irresistible desire to make him turn
round and look at me.

"Miss Chance's letter was written many years ago," I resumed. "I wonder
what has become of her since she wrote to you."

"I know nothing about her."

"Not even whether she is alive or dead?"

"Not even that. What do these questions mean, Helena?"

"Nothing, father."

I declare he looked as if he suspected me!

"Why don't you speak out?" he said. "Have I ever taught you to conceal
your thoughts? Have I ever been a hard father, who discouraged you when
you wished to confide in him? What are you thinking about? Do _you_ know
anything of this woman?"

"Oh, father, what a question! I never even heard of her till I put the
torn letters together. I begin to wish you had not asked me to do it."

"So do I. It never struck me that you would feel such extraordinary--I
had almost said, such vulgar--curiosity about a worthless letter."

This roused my temper. When a young lady is told that she is vulgar,
if she has any self-conceit--I mean self-respect--she feels insulted. I
said something sharp in my turn. It was in the way of argument. I do
not