welcome to her; so that she listens kindly to Arthur Dynecourt when he
solicits her assistance.

"She evidently shuns me," he says in an aggrieved tone to her one
evening, sinking into the seat beside hers. "Except a devotion to her
that is singularly sincere, I know of nothing about me that can be
regarded by her as an offense. Yet it appears to me that she dislikes
me."

"There I am sure you are wrong," declares the widow, tapping his arm
lightly with her fan. "She is but a girl--she hardly knows her own mind."

"She seems to know it pretty well when Adrian addresses her," he says,
with a sullen glance.

At this Mrs. Talbot can not repress a start; she grows a little pale,
and then tries to hide her confusion by a smile. But the smile is
forced, and Arthur Dynecourt, watching her, reads her heart as easily
as if it were an open book.

"I don't suppose Adrian cares for her," he goes on quietly. "At
least"--here he drops his eyes--"I believe, with a little judicious
management, his thoughts might be easily diverted into another channel."

"You think so?" asks Mrs. Talbot faintly, trifling with her fan. "I can
not say I have noticed that his attentions to her have been in any way
particular."

"Not as yet," agrees Dynecourt, studying her attentively; "and if I
might be open with you," he adds, breaking off abruptly and assuming an