ncine went on.

"It is no fault of mine, Mr. Morris, that we have not been better
friends. For some reason, into which I don't presume to inquire, you
seem to distrust me. I really don't know what I have done to deserve
it."

"Are you sure of that?" he asked--eying her suddenly and searchingly as
he spoke.

Her hard face settled into a rigid look; her eyes met his eyes with a
stony defiant stare. Now, for the first time, she knew that he suspected
her of having written the anonymous letter. Every evil quality in
her nature steadily defied him. A hardened old woman could not have
sustained the shock of discovery with a more devilish composure than
this girl displayed. "Perhaps you will explain yourself," she said.

"I _have_ explained myself," he answered.

"Then I must be content," she rejoined, "to remain in the dark. I had
intended, out of my regard for Emily, to suggest that you might--with
advantage to yourself, and to interests that are very dear to you--be
more careful in your behavior to Mr. Mirabel. Are you disposed to listen
to me?"

"Do you wish me to answer that question plainly, Miss de Sor?"

"I insist on your answering it plainly."

"Then I am _not_ disposed to listen to you."

"May I know why? or am I to be left in the dark again?"

"You are to be left, if you please, to your own ingenuity."

Francine looked at him, with a malignant smile. "One of these days, Mr.
Morris--I will deserve your confidence in my ingenuity." She said it,
and went back to the house.

This was the only element of disturbance that troubled the perfect
tranquillity of the day. What Francine had proposed to do, with the one
idea of making Alban serve her purpose, was accomplished a few hours
later by Emily's influence for good over the man who loved her.

They passed the afternoon together uninterruptedly in the distant
solitudes of the park. In the course of conversation Emily found an
opportunity of discreetly alluding to Mirabel. "You mustn't be jealous
of our clever little friend," she said; "I like him, and admire him;
but--"

"But you don't love him?"

She smiled at the eager way in which Alban put the question.

"There is no fear of that," she answered brightly.

"Not even if you discovered that he loves you?"

"Not even then. Are you content at last? Promise me not to be rude to
Mr. Mirabel again."

"For his sake?"

"No--for my sake. I don't like to see you place yourself at a
disadvantage toward a