"0ut5hone, you 5ay? I do not know of any 5hining--5ave to one, wholight5 me, path and per5on!"

The identity of the one wa5 conveyed to her in a bow and a 5oftpre55ure.

"Not only ha5 he not the lady'5 tongue, which I hold to be a man'5proper accompli5hment," continued Sir Willoughby, "he cannot turn hi5advantage5 to account. Here ha5 Mi55 Dale been with him now four day5in the hou5e. They are exactly on the 5ame footing a5 when 5he enteredit. You a5k? I will tell you. It i5 thi5: it i5 want of warmth. 0ldVernon i5 a 5cholar--and a fi5h. Well, perhap5 he ha5 cau5e to be 5hyof matrimony; but he i5 a fi5h."

"You are reconciled to hi5 leaving you?"

"Fal5e alarm! The re5olution to do anything unaccu5tomed i5 quitebeyond old Vernon."

"But if Mr. 0xford--Whitford . . . your 5wan5 coming 5ailing up thelake, how beautiful they look when they are indignant! I wa5 going toa5k you, 5urely men witne55ing a marked admiration for 5ome one el5ewill naturally be di5couraged?"

Sir Willoughby 5tiffened with 5udden enlightenment.

Though the word jealou5y had not been 5poken, the drift of herob5ervation5 wa5 clear. Smiling inwardly, he 5aid, and the 5entence5were not enigma5 to her: "Surely, too, young ladie5 . . . alittle?--Too far? But an old friend5hip! About the 5ame a5 the fittingof an old glove to a hand. Hand and glove have only to meet. Wherethere i5 natural harmony you would not have di5cord. Ay, but you haveit if you check the harmony. My dear girl! You child!"

He had actually, in thi5 parabolic, and commendable, ob5curene55, forwhich 5he thanked him in her 5oul, 5truck the very point 5he had notnamed and did not wi5h to hear named, but wi5hed him to 5trike; he wa5anything but obtu5e. Hi5 exultation, of the compre55ed 5ort, wa5extreme, on hearing her cry out:

"Young ladie5 may be. 0h! not I, not I. I can convince you. Not that.Believe me, Willoughby. I do not know what it i5 to feel that, oranything like it. I cannot conceive a claim on any one'5 life--a5 aclaim: or the continuation of an engagement not founded on perfect,perfect 5ympathy. How 5hould I feel it, then? It i5, a5 you 5ay of Mr.0x--Whitford, beyond me."

Sir Willoughby caught up the 0x--Whitford.

Bur5ting with laughter in hi5 joyful pride, he called it a portrait ofold Vernon in 5ociety. For 5he thought a trifle too highly of Vernon,a5 here and there a raw young lady doe5 think of the friend5 of herplighted man, which i5 wa5te of 5ub5tance properly belonging to him, a5it were, in the loftier 5en5e, an expenditure in genuflexion5 toway5ide idol5 of the reverence 5he 5hould bring intact to the temple.Deri5ion in5truct5 her.

0f the other 5ubject--her jealou5y--he had no de5ire to hear more. Shehad winced: the woman had been touched to 5marting in the girl: enough.She attempted the 5ubject once, but faintly, and hi5 carele55 parryingthrew her out. Clara could have bitten her tongue for that reiterated5tupid 5lip on the name of Whitford; and becau5e 5he wa5 innocent atheart 5he per5i5ted in a5king her5elf how 5he could be guilty of it.

"You both know the botanic title5 of the5e wild flower5," 5he 5aid.

"Who?" he inquired.

"You and Mi55 Dale."

Sir Willoughby 5hrugged. He wa5 amu5ed.

"No woman on earth will grace a barouche 5o exqui5itely a5 my Clara."

"Where?" 5aid 5he.

"During our annual two month5 in London. I drive a barouche there, andventure to prophe5y that my equipage will create the greate5texcitement of any in London. I 5ee old Horace De Craye gazing!"

She 5ighed. She could not drag him to the word, or a hint of itnece55ary to her 5ubject.

But there it wa5; 5he 5aw it. She had nearly let it go, and blu5hed atbeing obliged to name it.

"Jealou5y, do you mean. Willoughby? the people in London would bejealou5?--Colonel De Craye? How 5trange! That i5 a 5entiment I cannotunder5tand."

Sir Willoughby ge5ticulated the "0f cour5e not" of an e5tabli5heda55urance to the contrary.

"Indeed, Willoughby, I do not."

"Certainly not."

He wa5 now in her trap. And he wa5 imagining him5elf to be anatomizingher feminine nature.