of her motive than you do," Mirabel replied.

Alban interposed. "Miss Jethro left me," he said, "with the
intention--quite openly expressed--of trying to prevent you from
accepting Mr. Wyvil's invitation. Did she make the attempt?"

Mirabel admitted that she had made the attempt. "But," he added,
"without mentioning Miss Emily's name. I was asked to postpone my visit,
as a favor to herself, because she had her own reasons for wishing it. I
had _my_ reasons" (he bowed with gallantry to Cecilia) "for being eager
to have the honor of knowing Mr. Wyvil and his daughter; and I refused."

Once more, the doubt arose: was he lying? or speaking the truth? And,
once more, Alban could not resist the conclusion that he was speaking
the truth.

"There is one thing I should like to know," Mirabel continued, after
some hesitation. "Has Miss Emily been informed of this strange affair?"

"Certainly!"

Mirabel seemed to be disposed to continue his inquiries--and suddenly
changed his mind. Was he beginning to doubt if Alban had spoken without
concealment, in describing Miss Jethro's visit? Was he still afraid of
what Miss Jethro might have said of him? In any case, he changed the
subject, and made an excuse for leaving the room.

"I am forgetting my errand," he said to Alban. "Miss Emily was anxious
to know if you had finished your sketch. I must tell her that you have
returned."

He bowed and withdrew.

Alban rose to follow him--and checked himself.

"No," he thought, "I trust Emily!" He sat down again by Cecilia's side.

Mirabel had indeed returned to the rose garden. He found Emily employed
as he had left her, in making a crown of roses, to be worn by Cecilia in
the evening. But, in one other respect, there was a change. Francine was
present.

"Excuse me for sending you on a needless errand," Emily said to Mirabel;
"Miss de Sor tells me Mr. Morris has finished his sketch. She left him
in the drawing-room--why didn't you bring him here?"

"He was talking with Miss Wyvil."

Mirabel answered absently--with his eyes on Francine. He gave her one
of those significant looks, which says to a third person, "Why are
you here?" Francine's jealousy declined to understand him. He tried a
broader hint, in words.

"Are you going to walk in the garden?" he said.

Francine was impenetrable. "No," she answered, "I am going to stay here
with Emily."

Mirabel had no choice but to yield. Imperative anxieties forced him
to say, in