lous it will be of somebody better than Gilbert
Grey," said Maurice, angry and mortified because Bessie had referred to
Gilbert as better looking and more popular than himself.

"It seems to me you are making yourself very disagreeable to-night,
Maurice," said his cousin, pettishly.

"If you knew what an impudent message he sent to you, you might change
your mind about him."

"What impudent message did he send? I don't believe he sent any."

"Then you're mistaken. He said, with his own lips, 'Give my love to
Bessie.'"

A smile rippled over the face of Bessie Benton, and there was a little
blush, too. Evidently she was not at all displeased at the message.

"Was that the impudent message you spoke of?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then I don't see what impudence there is in it."

"What right had he to call you Bessie?"

"Don't you call me Bessie?"

"That's different--I am your cousin."

"Well, I call him Gilbert. So we're even."

"He had no right to send you his love. It isn't proper."

"Really, Maurice, I ought to be very much obliged to you for taking
such good care of me, and teaching me what's proper, and what isn't.
But, if you don't think the message a proper one, what made you give it
to me?" she asked, smiling.

"I wish I hadn't," thought Maurice, who began to see that he had been
hurried by his anger into making a mistake.

"I thought you would resent it," he said, aloud.

"You can give Gilbert my love, when you write to him," said his cousin,
provokingly.

"I sha'n't write to him; and, if I did, I wouldn't send him that
message."

"You are very obliging."

"If you knew as much of Gilbert Grey as I do, you wouldn't think so
much of him."

"Do you know anything very dreadful about him?" asked Bessie,
incredulously.

"I know why he has gone to St. Louis."

"Is it to commit murder, or robbery, or for any other dreadful reason?"

"It is to commit robbery!"

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Maurice Walton," said Bessie, sharply.

"I don't know what else you can call it," persisted Maurice. "He is
going to try to get possession of some property that don't belong to
him."

"I don't believe it."

"He knows of a rich gentleman of the same name, and he has forged a
paper, and is trying to make out that he is his nephew, though it is
well known that the nephew died years ago."

"Is that his reason for going to St. Louis?" asked Bessie, interested.

"Yes."

"How do you know?--did he tell yo