CHAPTER III.

"Mr. Vane, I feel as if I had many apologies to make for the interest in
your life which my letter to you so indiscreetly betrayed."

"Oh, Mrs. Morley! you cannot guess how deeply that interest touched me."

"I should not have presumed so far," continued Mrs. Morley, unheeding the
interruption, "if I had not been altogether in error as to the nature of
your sentiments in a certain quarter. In this you must blame my American
rearing. With us there are many flirtations between boys and girls which
come to nothing; but when in my country a man like you meets with a woman
like Mademoiselle Cicogna, there cannot be flirtation. His attentions,
his looks, his manner, reveal to the eyes of those who care enough for
him to watch, one of two things--either he coldly admires and esteems, or
he loves with his whole heart and soul a woman worthy to inspire such a
love. Well, I did watch, and I was absurdly mistaken. I imagined that I
saw love, and rejoiced for the sake of both of you to think so. I know
that in all countries, our own as well as yours, love is so morbidly
sensitive and jealous that it is always apt to invent imaginary foes to
itself. Esteem and admiration never do that. I thought that some
misunderstanding, easily removed by the intervention of a third person,
might have impeded the impulse of two hearts towards each other--and so
I wrote. I had assumed that you loved--I am humbled to the last degree--
you only admired and esteemed."

"Your irony is very keen, Mrs. Morley, and to you it may seem very just."

"Don't call me Mrs. Morley in that haughty tone of voice,--can't you talk