making much of it in speech."

Madame de Courval had at times entertained Margaret with some of the
grim annals of her father's people. Now, feeling the thrust, and not
liking it, or that she had lost her temper, she shifted her ground, and
being at heart what her hostess described as a gentlewoman, said
stiffly: "I beg pardon; I spoke without thought." At this moment
Margaret entered, and seeing the signals of discomposure on both faces,
said: "Oh, you two dear people whom I love and want to love more and
more, you are talking of me and of Rene. Shall I give him up, Madame,
and send him about his business."

"Do, dear," laughed her mother, relieved.

There was no mirth to be had out of it for Yvonne de Courval.

"It is not a matter for jesting," she said. "He is quite too like me to
be other than obstinate, and this, like what else of the trials God has
seen fit to send, is to be endured. He is too like me to change."

"Then," said Margaret, gaily, "thou must be like him."

"I suppose so," said the vicomtesse, with a note of melancholy in her
tones.

"Then if thou art like him, thou wilt have to love me," cried Margaret.
The mother smiled at this pretty logic, but the Huguenot dame sat up on
her chair, resentful of the affectionate familiarity of the girl's
gaiety.

"Your mother and I have talked, and what use is it? I shall try to care
for you, and love may come. But I could have wished--"

"Oh, no!" cried Margaret. "Please to say no more. Thou will only hurt
me."

"I remain of the same opinion; I am not of a nature which allows me to
change without reason."

"And as for me," said Mrs. Swanwick, smiling as she rose, "I yield when
I must."

"I, too," said the dark lady; "but to yield outwardly is not to give up
my opinions, nor is it easy or agreeable to do so. We will speak of it
another time, Madame Swanwick." But they never did, and so this
interview ended with no very good result, except to make both women feel
that further talk would be of no use, and that the matter was settled.

As the two mothers rose, Miss Gainor entered, large, smiling, fresh from
Christ Church. Quick to observe, she saw that something unusual had
occurred, and hesitated between curiosity and the reserve which good
manners exacted.

"Good morning," she said. "I heard that Mr. Schmidt had come back, and
so I came at once from church to get all the news from Europe for the
Penns, where I go to dine."

"Europe is unimportant