speedy consummation of his purpose, but was aware that he and all
her relatives looked upon her as his predestined wife. Now, as never
before, she shrank from the relation, and in the instinct of self-
preservation resolved never to enter into it.

Her long, rebellious reveries in solitude had prepared her for this
hour, and her proud, excited spirit surprised her by the intensity
of its passionate revolt. Not as a timid, shrinking maiden did she
look at her cousin and his men feasting on the piazza. She glanced
at him, then through the open windows at their burly forms, as one
might face a menace which brought no thought of yielding.

The family resemblance between Whately and herself was strong. He
had her blue eyes, but they were smaller than hers, and his
expression was bold, verging toward recklessness. Her look was
steady and her lips compressed into accord with the firm little
chin.

Mrs. Baron's ideas of decorum soon brought temporary relief. She
also saw that her nephew was becoming too excited to make a good
impression, so she said, "Louise, you may now retire, and I trust
that you will waken tomorrow to the truth that your natural
guardians can best direct your thoughts and actions."

Whately was about to rise in order to bid an affectionate good-
night, but the girl almost fled from the room. In the hall she met
Chunk, who whispered, "Linkum man gittin' peart, Miss Lou."

"She'll be over her tantrum by morning," said Mr. Baron in an
apologetic tone. "Perhaps we'll have to humor her more in little