_Constance._--"I can remember a little girl that ran down the street, and met an officer on horseback. He was all tanned and weather-beaten; he sat his horse at the head of his troop like a statue of bronze. When he saw her come running, dancing down the street, he leaped from his horse and caught her in his arms, and hugged her close and kissed her, and set her all crying and laughing in his saddle, and walked on beside her; and the men burst out with a wild yell, and the ragged flags flapped over her, and the music flashed out"-- She rises in her chair with the thrill of her recollection; her voice comes free and full, and her pale cheeks flush; suddenly she sinks back upon the pillows: "Was it really I, mother?" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Yes, it was you, Constance. And do you remember all through your school-days, how proud and fond he was of you? what presents and feasts and pleasures he was always making you? I thought he would spoil you; he took you everywhere with him, and wanted to give you everything. When I saw you growing up with his pride and quick temper, I trembled, but I felt safe when I saw that you had his true and tender heart too. You can never know what a pang it cost him to part with you when we went abroad, but you can't forget how he met you in Paris?" _Constance._--"Oh, no, no! Poor papa!" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Oh, child! And I could tell you something of his bitter despair when he saw the man"-- _Constance_, wearily.--"You needn't tell me. I knew it as soon as they met, without looking at either of them." _Mrs. Wyatt._--"And when the worst that he feared came true, he was almost glad, I believe. He thought, and I thought, that your self-respect would come to your aid against such treachery." _Constance._--"My self-respect? Now I know you've not been talking of me." _Mrs. Wyatt_, desperately.--"Oh, what shall I do?" _Mary_, the serving-woman, at the door.--"If you please, Mrs. Wyatt, I can't open Miss Constance's hat-box." _Mrs. Wyatt_, rising.--"Oh, yes. There's something the matter with the lock. I'll come, Mary." She looks at Constance. _Constance._--"Yes, go, mother. I'm perfectly well here. I like being alone well enough." As Mrs. Wyatt, after a moment's reluctance, goes out, the girl's heavy eyelids fall, and she lies motionless against her pillows, while the fan, released from her careless hold, slides slowly over the shawl, and drops with a light clash upon the floor. She starts at the sound, and utters a little involuntary cry at sight of Bartlett, who stands irresolute in the doorway on her right. He makes as if to retreat, but at a glance from her he remains. II. BARTLETT _and_ CONSTANCE. _Bartlett_, with a sort of subdued gruffness.--"I'm afraid I disturbed you." _Constance_, passively.--"No, I think it was my fan. It fell." _Bartlett._--"I'm glad I can lay the blame on the fan." He comes abruptly forward and picks it up for her. She makes no motion to receive it, and he lays it on her lap.