“Nothing at all,” answered Aimée, conscious that guilt was in every cadence of her voice. “It is so warm that I did not think I could take cold, and I--I like to look at the stars.” “Close the window at once and go to bed,” said Mrs. Berrien. “You need not wait for Fanny. She will probably not be up for some time. Why are you so foolish and so peculiar, my dear? It is better for you to stay down-stairs in the evening.” “I will hereafter, if you desire it,” replied Aimée, lowering the window as she spoke. She was always docile to the least suggestion, but at that moment she would have promised obedience in anything, to atone for the deception she was aiding to practice. “Well, good-night,” said Mrs. Berrien. “Have you matches at hand?” “Oh, yes,” answered the girl, glad not to be obliged to show her face. As her aunt went away, she threw herself on the outside of her bed, and lay there almost motionless, but wide awake for another hour--the delightful hour for which Mr. Meredith invariably waited, for in it he had the society of his pretty ladylove to himself. Fanny, however, who always sent him away punctually on the stroke of eleven, was to-night not remiss in doing so. Ten minutes after that hour the door of the chamber opened, and that young lady appeared, bearing a light which flashed full in Aimée’s face. “Oh!” she cried, “how you startled me with your great, solemn eyes! You foolish child, have you not been asleep? I hoped when you went away so early you would take a good sleep, and be fresh and ready for my little errand.” “I am ready,” answered Aimée, “but as for having gone to sleep, how _could_ I? It is all too exciting!” “One would think it was you who were going to elope,” said Fanny, putting down her lamp. “As for me, I am so tired of men, that if it were not for mamma I would go into a convent, where I would never hear of them again. You can not fancy how Mr. Meredith has been tormenting me, until I have half promised to marry him just to get rid of him.” “But you will not get rid of him if you marry him,” said Aimée, with her eyes more great and more solemn than ever. “Simpleton!” returned Fanny. “Of course not; but between promising and doing a thing there is a very great difference, as poor Lennox will find out to-night. Dear me!”--sitting down meditatively on the side of Aimée’s bed--“I wonder what made me such a fool as to imagine for a moment that I would go with him? The mere thought makes me shudder--to be running off wildly and being seasick (the idea of my forgetting that I always am seasick!) instead of going to bed comfortably and getting up to-morrow to torment Mr. Meredith by flirting with one of those handsome Englishmen!” “O Fanny, are you not ashamed!” said Aimée. “To think what Mr. Kyrle must be feeling at this moment, while you--”