To these emotions, more rapid in their course
than it has taken time to describe them, succeeded a cold, determined
calm, in which her features regained their usual expression, though
marked by a paleness like death.

The stranger came slowly forward, examining the trees and flowers as he
passed along, and peering with his double eye-glass to read the names
attached to whatever was rarest. Affecting to be gathering flowers for a
bouquet, she stooped frequently, till the other came near, and then,
as he removed his hat to salute her, she threw back her veil and stood,
silent, before him.

"Madam! madam!" cried he, in a voice of such intense agony as showed
that he was almost choked for utterance. "How is this, madam?" said he,
in a tone of indignant demand. "How is this?"

"I have really no explanation to offer, sir," said she, in a cold, low
voice. "My astonishment is great as your own; this meeting is not of my
seeking. I need scarcely say so much."

"I do not know that!--by Heaven I do not!" cried he, in a passion.

"You are surely forgetting, sir, that we are no longer anything to each
other, and thus forgetting the deference due to me as a stranger?"

"I neither forget nor forgive!" said he, sternly.

"Happily, sir, you will not be called upon to do either. I no longer
bear your name--"

"Oh that you had never borne it!" cried he, in agony.

"There is at least one sentiment we agree in, sir,--would that I never
had!" said she; and a slight--very slight--tremor shook the words as she
spoke them.

"Tell me at once, madam, what do you mean by this surprise? I know all
your skill in _accidents_,--what does this one portend?"

"You are too flattering, sir, believe me," said she, with an easy smile.
"I have plotted nothing,--I have nothing to plot,--at least, in which
you are concerned. The unhappy bond that once united us is loosed
forever; but I do not see that even harsh memories are to suggest bad
manners."

"I am no stranger to your flippancy, madam. You have made me acquainted
with all your merits."

"You were going to say virtues, George,--confess you were?" said she,
coquettishly.

"Gracious mercy, woman! can you dare--"

"My dear Mr. Ogden," broke she in, gently, "I can dare to be that which
you have just told me was impossible for you,--forgetful and forgiving."

"Oh, madam, this is, indeed, generous!" said be, with a bitter mockery.

"Well, sir, it were no bad thing if there were a little