er bills. The question that now
troubles me is, Are they _honest_ exertions?

Since the evening at Mr. Griddle's (the rich manufacturer who gave me
the check) I have been to several places, at all of which, among
others that I knew, I saw Morton. His manner is becoming most
unpleasant. He said to me the other night, with that satirical grin of
his:

"You're getting to be quite a society man, Valentine. Never used to
see you about so much. It's always been my way, but it's something new
for you."

I felt sure he suspected something. Another time he said:

"By the way, I thought you were going out of town to live? As you seem
to have changed your mind, I suppose it is all right about the
Amsterdam?"

I would not dare to join a club now. I stammered out something about
talking it over another time, and left the room. I begin to hate him.
He suspects the truth, and knows that I am in his power, and enjoys
it.

_February 4th._--Added to the mortifications I am exposed to, the
feeling that I am a sham grows on me. I impose on every one wherever I
go. This thought has robbed me of my peace of mind. However poor I was
before, I had nothing to be ashamed of. Now I am a man with a
_Secret_.

_February 5th._--I have realized this too late. Last night I was sent
for to fill a place at a dinner-table where fourteen had been
expected, and at the last minute one had failed. Mr. Courtland, the
gentleman at whose house the dinner was given, treated me politely
before his guests, yet with him I felt all the odium of my position. I
was there as a convenience, and nothing else. My relation to him was
purely a business one. The house was on Washington Square, and was
old-fashioned but magnificent. The dining-room was hung with tapestry,
and we sat around the dinner-table in carved arm-chairs. I made a
pretence of talking to the old lady whom I took in to dinner, and whom
I had met before, but in reality my attention was absorbed by a
beautiful young girl who sat opposite to me. She had dark hair,
brilliant coloring, and deep-set brown eyes. She wore an oddly
old-fashioned gown of yellow satin, cut square in the neck. I found
that she was Mr. Courtland's niece and heiress, and lived with him. He
was a widower without any children. After dinner, when the men went
into the drawing-room, I determined to leave. Mr. Courtland's manner
was too much for my self-respect. Miss Courtland stood by the piano,
and every one was begging her to