Miss de Sor began cautiously with an apology. "Excuse me, Mr.Mirabel, for reminding you of my presence."

Mr. Mirabel made no reply.

"I beg to say," Francine proceeded, "that I didn't intentionallysee you kiss Emily's hand."

Mirabel stood, looking at the roses which Emily had left on herchair, as completely absorbed in his own thoughts as if he hadbeen alone in the garden.

"Am I not even worth notice?" Francine asked. "Ah, I know to whomI am indebted for your neglect!" She took him familiarly by thearm, and burst into a harsh laugh. "Tell me now, inconfidence--do you think Emily is fond of you?"

The impression left by Emily's kindness was still fresh inMirabel's memory: he was in no humor to submit to the jealousresentment of a woman whom he regarded with perfect indifference.Through the varnish of politeness which overlaid his manner,there rose to the surface the underlying insolence, hidden, onall ordinary occasions, from all human eyes. He answeredFrancine--mercilessly answered her--at last.

"It is the dearest hope of my life that she may be fond of me,"he said.

Francine dropped his arm "And fortune favors your hopes," sheadded, with an ironical assumption of interest in Mirabel'sprospects. "When Mr. Morris leaves us to-morrow, he removes theonly obstacle you have to fear. Am I right?"

"No; you are wrong."

"In what way, if you please?"

"In this way. I don't regard Mr. Morris as an obstacle. Emily istoo delicate and too kind to hurt his feelings--she is not inlove with him. There is no absorbing interest in her mind todivert her thoughts from me. She is idle and happy; shethoroughly enjoys her visit to this house, and I am associatedwith her enjoyment. There is my chance--!"

He suddenly stopped. Listening to him thus far, unnaturally calmand cold, Francine now showed that she felt the lash of hiscontempt. A hideous smile passed slowly over her white face. Itthreatened the vengeance which knows no fear, no pity, noremorse--the vengeance of a jealous woman. Hysterical anger,furious language, Mirabel was prepared for. The smile frightenedhim.

"Well?" she said scornfully, "why don't you go on?"

A bolder man might still have maintained the audacious positionwhich he had assumed. Mirabel's faint heart shrank from it. Hewas eager to shelter himself under the first excuse that he couldfind. His ingenuity, paralyzed by his fears, was unable to inventanything new. He feebly availed himself of the commonplace trickof evasion which he had read of in novels, and seen in action onthe stage.

"Is it possible," he asked, with an overacted assumption ofsurprise, "that you think I am in earnest?"

In the case of any other person, Francine would have instantlyseen through that flimsy pretense. But the love which accepts themeanest crumbs of comfort that can be thrown to it--which fawnsand grovels and deliberately deceives itself, in its ownintensely selfish interests--was the love that burned inFrancine's breast. The wretched girl believed Mirabel with suchan ecstatic sense of belief that she trembled in every limb, anddropped into the nearest chair.

"_I_ was in earnest," she said faintly. "Didn't you see it?"

He was perfectly shameless; he denied that he had seen it, in themost positive manner. "Upon my honor, I thought you weremystifying me, and I humored the joke."

She sighed, and looking at him with an expression of tenderreproach. "I wonder whether I can believe you," she said softly.

"Indeed you may believe me!" he assured her.

She hesitated--for the pleasure of hesitating. "I don't know.Emily is very much admired by some men. Why not by you?"

"For the best of reasons," he answered "She is poor, and I ampoor. Those are facts which speak for themselves."

"Yes--but Emily is bent on attracting you. She would marry youto-morrow, if you asked her. Don't attempt to deny it! Besides,you kissed her hand."

"Oh, Miss de Sor!"

"Don't call me 'Miss de Sor'! Call me Francine. I want to knowwhy you kissed her hand."

He humored her with inexhaustible servility. "Allow me to kiss_your_ hand, Francine!--and let me explain that kissing a lady'shand is only a form of thanking her for her kindness. You mustown that Emily--"

She interrupted him for the third time. "Emily?" she repeated."Are you as familiar as that already? Does she call you 'Miles,'when you are by yourselves? Is there any effort at fascinationwhich this charming creature has left untried? She told you nodoubt what a lonely life she leads in her poor little home?"

Even Mirabel felt that he must not permit this to pass.

"She has said nothing to me about herself," he answered. "What Iknow of her, I know from Mr. Wyvil."

"Oh, indeed! You asked Mr. Wyvil about her family, of course?What did he say?"

"He said she lost her mother when she was a child--and he told meher father had died suddenly, a few years since, of heartcomplaint."

"Well, and what else?--Never mind now! Here is somebody coming."

The person was only one of the servants. Mirabel felt grateful tothe man for interrupting them. Animated by sentiments of aprecisely opposite nature, Francine spoke to him sharply.

"What do you want here?"

"A message, miss."

"From whom?"

"From Miss Brown."

"For me?"

"No, miss." He turned to Mirabel. "Miss Brown wishes to speak toyou, sir, if you are not e ngaged."

Francine controlled herself until the man was out of hearing.

"Upon my word, this is too shameless!" she declared indignantly."Emily can't leave you with me for five minutes, without wantingto see you again. If you go to her after all that you have saidto me," she cried, threatening Mirabel with her outstretchedhand, "you are the meanest of men!"

He _was_ the meanest of men--he carried out his cowardlysubmission to the last extremity.

"Only say what you wish me to do," he replied.

Even Francine expected some little resistance from a creaturebearing the outward appearance of a man. "Oh, do you really meanit?" she asked "I want you to disappoint Emily. Will you stayhere, and let me make your excuses?"

"I will do anything to please you."

Francine gave him a farewell look. Her admiration made adesperate effort to express itself appropriately in words. "Youare not a man," she said, "you are an angel!"

Left by himself, Mirabel sat down to rest. He reviewed his ownconduct with perfect complacency. "Not one man in a hundred couldhave managed that she-devil as I have done," he thought. "Howshall I explain matters to Emily?"

Considering this question, he looked by chance at the unfinishedcrown of roses. "The very thing to help me!" he said--and tookout his pocketbook, and wrote these lines on a blank page: "Ihave had a scene of jealousy with Miss de Sor, which is beyondall description. To spare _you_ a similar infliction, I have doneviolence to my own feelings. Instead of instantly obeying themessage which you have so kindly sent to me, I remain here for alittle while--entirely for your sake."

Having torn out the page, and twisted it up among the roses, sothat only a corner of the paper appeared in view, Mirabel calledto a lad who was at work in the garden, and gave him hisdirections, accompanied by a shilling. "Take those flowers to theservants' hall, and tell one of the maids to put them in MissBrown's room. Stop! Which is the way to the fruit garden?"

The lad gave the necessary directions. Mirabel walked awayslowly, with his hands in his pockets. His nerves had beenshaken; he thought a little fruit might refresh him.