alk,' she would say to him when they were alone. 'Do talk to people
and not sit so glum, with that great wrinkle between your eyes as if you
were mad at something; and do laugh, too, when anybody tells anything
worth laughing at, and not leave it all to me. Why, I actually giggle at
times until I feel like a fool, while you never smile or act as if you
heard a word. Look at me occasionally, and when I elevate my
eyebrows--_so_--brace up and say something, if it isn't so cunning.'

This _elevating of the eyebrows_ and _bracing up_ were matters of
frequent occurrence, as Frank grew more and more silent and abstracted,
and now after he had sat through a funny story told by Mr. St. Claire
and had not even smiled, or given any sign that he heard it, he suddenly
caught Dolly's eye and saw that both eyebrows, and nose, and chin were
up as marks of unusual disapprobation, for how could she guess of what
he was thinking as he sat with his head bent down, and his eyes
seemingly half shut. But they came open wide enough, and his head was
high enough when he saw Dolly's frown; and turning to Mrs. Raymond he
began to talk rapidly and at random. She had just returned from Germany,
where she had left her daughter, Marion, in school, and Frank asked her
of the country, and if she had visited Wiesbaden, and had there met or
heard of anyone by the name of Marguerite Heinrich.

Mrs. Raymond had spent some months in Wiesbaden, for it was there her
daughter was at school, and she was very enthusiastic in her praises of
the beautiful town. But she had never seen or heard of Marguerite
Heinrich, or of anyone by the name of Heinrich.

'Marguerite Heinrich?' Dolly repeated. 'Who in the world is she--and
where did you know her?'

'I never did know her. I have only heard of her,' Frank replied, again
lapsing into a silence from which he did not rouse again.

He was thinking of the letter hidden away with the photograph and the
book--of the lies he had told since his deception began, and now sure it
was that he had sinned beyond forgiveness. When he was a boy he had
often listened, with the blood curdling in his veins, to a story his
grandmother told him with sundry embellishments, for he was not well
versed in German literature, of a man--Foster it seemed to him was the
name--who sold his soul to the devil in consideration that for a certain
number of years he was to have every pleasure the world could give. It
had been very pleasant listenin