even then encouraged the miserable Richard in his love.

As these lights burst one after the other upon Mrs. Hanway-Harley, she
could have punished her own dullness by beating her head against the
wall. However, she restrained herself, and closed by inviting Storri to
dinner on the next day but one. Storri, still keeping up his tender
melancholy, thanked Mrs. Hanway-Harley, accepted, and with many bows,
and many sighs to impress upon Mrs. Hanway-Harley his stricken heart,
backed himself out into the night.

When Storri was gone, Mrs. Hanway-Harley resolved on an instant talk
with Dorothy--no more the innocent, but the artful one. She would make a
last attempt to wring from her the name of that lover of the shadows.
Should it be Richard--and she was sure of it--that aspiring journalist
must never again cross the Harley threshold.

Mrs. Hanway-Harley, who had the merit of expedition, repaired at once to
Dorothy's room. That obdurate beauty was half undressed, and her maid
had just finished arranging her hair in two raven braids--thick as a
ship's cable, they were. As Mrs. Hanway-Harley entered, Dorothy glanced
up with half-wistful eye. Poor child! she was hoping her mother might
have softened from that granite attitude of the morning! But no, there
was nothing tender in the selfish, austere gaze; at that, the spirit of
the old astronomical ancestor who, with his water-pans and gate-posts,
knew the earth was flat, began to chafe within Dorothy's girlish bosom.

Mrs. Hanway-Harley came to a dignified halt in the middle of the room.

"Cora, you may go," said Mrs. Hanway-Harley.

The black maid gave a parting touch to the braids, in which she
contrived to mingle sympathy and affection, for with the wisdom of her
caste she knew of Dorothy's love and gave it her approval.

"Dorothy," said Mrs. Hanway-Harley, when they were alone, and speaking
in a high, superior vein, "I have come for the name of that man."

"Mr. Storms," returned Dorothy, in tones which for steadiness matched
Mrs. Hanway-Harley's.

It was not the name so much as the relentless frankness that furnished
it, which overcame Mrs. Hanway-Harley. She sat down with an emphasis so
sudden that it was as though her knees were glass and the blow had
broken them. Once in the chair, she waggled her head dolorously, and
moaned out against upstart vulgarians who, without a name or a shilling,
insinuated themselves like vipers into households of honor, and, coiling
t