t the fire with his back to her. "Mr.
Probert, I'm very sorry for what I've done to distress you; I had no
idea you'd all feel so badly. I didn't mean any harm. I thought you'd
like it."

The old man turned a little, bending his eyes on her, but without taking
her hand as she had hoped. Usually when they met he kissed her. He
didn't look angry now, he only looked very ill. A strange, inarticulate
sound, a chorus of amazement and mirth, came from the others when she
said she thought they'd like it; and indeed poor Francie was far from
being able to measure the droll effect of that speech. "Like it--LIKE
IT?" said Mr. Probert, staring at her as if a little afraid of her.

"What do you mean? She admits--she admits!" Mme. de Cliche exulted to
her sister. "Did you arrange it all that day in the Bois--to punish me
for having tried to separate you?" she pursued to the poor child, who
stood gazing up piteously at the old man.

"I don't know what he has published--I haven't seen it--I don't
understand. I thought it was only to be a piece about me," she said to
him.

"'About me'!" M. de Cliche repeated in English. "Elle est divine!" He
turned away, raising his shoulders and hands and then letting them fall.

Mme. de Brecourt had picked up the newspaper; she rolled it
together, saying to Francie that she must take it home, take it home
immediately--then she'd see. She only seemed to wish to get her out of
the room. But Mr. Probert had fixed their flushed little guest with his
sick stare. "You gave information for that? You desired it?"

"Why _I_ didn't desire it--but Mr. Flack did."

"Why do you know such ruffians? Where was your father?" the old man
groaned.

"I thought he'd just be nice about my picture and give pleasure to Mr.
Waterlow," Francie went on. "I thought he'd just speak about my being
engaged and give a little account; so many people in America would be
interested."

"So many people in America--that's just the dreadful thought, my dear,"
said Mme. de Brecourt kindly. "Foyons, put it in your muff and tell
us what you think of it." And she continued to thrust forward the
scandalous journal.

But Francie took no notice of it; she looked round from Mr. Probert
at the others. "I told Gaston I'd certainly do something you wouldn't
like."

"Well, he'll believe it now!" cried Mme. de Cliche.

"My poor child, do you think he'll like it any better?" asked Mme. de
Brecourt.

Francie turned upon her beautiful d