s Leslie," wrote
he, "that in the intoxication of all the happiness I lived in at
the villa, I lost head as well as heart It was such an atmosphere of
enjoyment as I had never breathed before,--may never breathe again. I
could not stop to analyze what it was that imparted such ecstasy to
my existence, and, naturally enough, tendered all my homage and all
my devotion to one whose loveliness was so surpassing! If I was ever
unjust enough to accuse her of having encouraged my rash presumption,
let me now entreat her pardon. I see and own my fault."

The letter was very long, but not always very coherent There was about
it a humility that smacked more of wounded pride than submissiveness,
and occasionally a sort of shadowy protest that, while grateful for
proffered friendship, he felt himself no subject for pity or compassion.
To use the phrase of Quackinboss, to whom he read it, "it closed the
account with that firm, and declared no more goods from that store."

But there was a loose slip of paper enclosed, very small, and with only
a few lines written on it. It was to Clara herself. "And so you
have kept the slip of jessamine I gave you on that day,--gave you so
ungraciously too. Keep it still, dear Clara. Keep it in memory of one
who, when he claims it of you, will ask you to recall that hour, and
never again forget it!"

This she did _not_ show to May Leslie; and thus was there one secret
which she treasured in her own heart, alone.

CHAPTER XXXIV. A WARM DISCUSSION

"I knew it,--I could have sworn to it," cried Paten, as he listened to
Stocmar's narrative of his drive with Mrs. Morris. "She has just done
with _you_ as with fifty others. Of course you 'll not believe that you
can be the dupe,--she 'd not dare to throw her net for such a fish as
you. Ay, and land you afterwards, high and dry, as she has done with
scores of fellows as sharp as either of us."

Stocmar sipped his wine, half simpering at the passionate warmth of his
companion, which, not without truth, he ascribed to a sense of jealousy.

"I know her well," continued Paten, with heightened passion. "I have
reason to know her well; and I don't believe that this moment you could
match her for falsehood in all Europe. There is not a solitary spot in
her heart without a snare in it."

"Strange confession this, from a lover," said Stocmar, smiling.

"If you call a lover one that would peril his own life to bring shame
and disgrace on hers, I am su