"Where I was weak," continued Helen, ignoring utterly the interruption, "was, in laying too much stress on your verdict in regard to my sister. I am not authorized to contradict your statement, but I think it is more than probable that your perceptions have been at fault. In regard to Mr. Farr, he has certainly seemed to both like and admire Jean. Once or twice I have even thought him very much concerned about her. Why, at the dance----" "I imagine, my dear, that your perceptions are equally as faulty as my own. It may interest you to learn that Mr. Farr and I were at one time engaged; that he loved me madly, and that my breaking of the engagement was a terrible blow to him. It is possible, however, since in your opinion Mr. Farr has transferred his affections from me to your sister, that he has already confessed this to her." The taunting words were spoken lightly, but Miss Stuart's eyes searched Helen's face. What she saw there must have satisfied her, for she turned aside with an air of relief. There was a brief pause, which was broken by a question from Helen: "Does Mr. Farr still care for you, Lillian?" The clear truthful eyes met Miss Stuart's squarely, and under their steady gaze she moved restively. It was not easy to tell a direct lie to Helen. She bent her head, and a slow flush mounted to her face. "That is hardly fair, Helen. He certainly has not told me of any change in his feeling toward me." She flung back her head and her lustrous eyes held a challenge. "You have seen him with me. What do you think?" Her face was alight with power and magnetism; the scarlet lips were slightly parted, as the breath came hurriedly through them; one firm white hand on her breast held together the loose folds of her dressing-gown, which fell about her superb figure in long, graceful lines. At that moment she was regal, majestic. Helen gazed at her steadfastly, and her heart sank. "Poor little Jean," she thought hopelessly. "What could she do?" For Helen, as was her wont, laid too much stress upon her friend's great beauty of face and form, and overlooked the deeper beauty of her sister's soul. As she crept into bed that night she murmured to herself: "I must warn Jean, gently and lovingly. God grant it may not be too late."