immediately changed the subject, demanding--

"Where is Laura to-night?"

"She's at home, making cake for the picnic," he said.

"The good girl! and I ought to be making some, too. I wonder if poor
George will be at the picnic?"

"I doubt it," said Henry. "You know he never goes to any sort of party.
The last time I saw him at such a place was at Mr. Bradford's. He was
playing whist, and they were joking about cheating. Somebody said--Mr.
Bradford it was--'I can trust my wife's honesty. She doesn't know enough
to cheat, but I don't know about George.' George was her partner.
Bradford didn't mean any harm; he forgot, you see. He'd have bitten his
tongue off otherwise sooner than have said it. But everybody saw the
application, and there was a dead silence. George got red as fire, and
then pale as death. I don't know how they finished the hand, but
presently somebody made an excuse, and the game was broken off."

"Oh, dear! dear! That was cruel! cruel! How could Mr. Bradford do it? I
should think he would never forgive himself! never!" exclaimed Madeline,
with an accent of poignant sympathy, involuntarily pressing Henry's arm,
and thereby causing him instantly to forget all about George and his
misfortunes, and setting his heart to beating so tumultuously that he was
afraid she would notice it and be offended. But she did not seem to be
conscious of the intoxicating effluence she was giving forth, and
presently added, in a tone of sweetest pity--

"He used to be so frank and dashing in his manner, and now when he meets