"Not the true story. That scoundrel King spread a rumor abroad which
caused much mischief, and was most cruel after what we had done to
outrage her feelings in the first instance; but that was his revenge for
her slight--I never knew whether she regretted Darling or not. She was
so sensitive and willfully proud that she would have died herself sooner
than betray a regret for any one who had offended her. Her mother died,
and her father took her away with him to the Sandwich Islands. It was
said he was not kind to her, especially after her 'disgrace,' as he
called it."

"She never forgave you? What do you know about her subsequent history?"

"Nothing of it. But she had her revenge for what went before. After she
went to the Islands I wrote her a very full and perfect confession of my
fault, and the extenuating circumstances, and offered her my love, with
the assurance that it had always been hers. What do you think she wrote
me in return? Only this: that once she _had_ loved me; that she had but
just made the discovery that she loved me, and not Charlie Darling, when
we mutually insulted her as we did, and forced her to discard both of
us; for which she was not now sorry."

"After all, she was not an angel," I said, laughing lightly, to his
embarrassment.

"But to think of using a girl of sixteen like that!"

"You are in a self-accusing mood to-day. Let us talk of our neighbors.
Bad as that practice is, I believe it is better than talking about
ourselves:--Mrs. Sancy thinks so, I know?"

"Who is Mrs. Sancy?"

"I will introduce you to-morrow."

Next to being principal in a romantic _affaire de coeur_ is the
excitement of being an interested third party. In consonance with this
belief I laid awake most of the night imagining the possible and
probable "conclusion of the whole matter." I never doubted that Mrs.
Sancy was Teresa, nor that she was more fascinating at thirty-one than
she had been at sixteen: but fifteen years work great changes in the
intellectual and moral person, and much as I desired to play the part of
Fate in bringing these two people together, I was very doubtful about
the result. But I need not have troubled myself to assume the
prerogative of Fate, which by choosing its own instruments saved me all
responsibility in the matter.

As Mr. Kittredge messed with a party of military officers, and was off
on an early excursion to unknown localities, I saw nothing of him the
following morning. We w