_Constance._--"I don't know--I can't say that it was _mind_-reading exactly." She lifts her eyes to his, and in his embarrassment he passes his hand over his forehead and then feels first in one pocket, and then in the other for his handkerchief; suddenly he twitches it forth, and with it a pipe, half a dozen cigars, and a pouch of smoking tobacco, which fly in different directions over the floor. As he stoops in dismay and sweeps together these treasures, she cries: "Oh, it didn't need all _that_ to prove it!" and breaks into a wild, helpless laugh, and striving to recover herself with many little moans and sighs behind her handkerchief, laughs on and on: "Oh, don't! I oughtn't! Oh dear, oh dear!" When at last she lies spent with her reluctant mirth, and uncovers her face, Bartlett is gone, and it is her mother who stands over her, looking down at her with affectionate misgiving. III. MRS. WYATT _and_ CONSTANCE. _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Laughing, Constance?" _Constance_, with a burst of indignant tears.--"Yes, yes! Isn't it shocking? It's horrible! He made me." _Mrs. Wyatt._--"He?" _Constance_, beginning to laugh again.--"Mr. Bartlett; he's been here. Oh, I _wish_ I _wouldn't_ be so silly!" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Made you? How could he make _you_ laugh, poor child?" _Constance._--"Oh, it's a long story. It was all through my bewilderment at his resemblance. It confused me. I kept thinking it was _he_,--as if it were some dream,--and whenever this one mentioned some trait of his that totally differed from _his_, don't you know, I got more and more confused, and--mamma!"--with sudden desolation--"I know he knows all about it!" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"I am sure he doesn't. Mr. Cummings only told him that his resemblance was a painful association. He assured your father of this, and wouldn't hear a word more. I'm certain you're wrong. But what made you think he knows?" _Constance_, solemnly.--"He behaved just as if he didn't." _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Ah, you can't judge from that, my dear." Impressively: "Men are very different." _Constance_, doubtfully.--"Do you think so, mamma?" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"I'm certain of it." _Constance_, after a pause.--"Mamma, will you help take this shawl off my feet? I am so warm. I think I should like to walk about a little. Can you see the island from the gallery?" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Do you think you'd better try to leave your chair, Constance?" _Constance._--"Yes, I'm stronger this morning. And I shall never gain, lounging about this way." She begins to loose the wraps from her feet, and Mrs. Wyatt coming doubtfully to her aid she is presently freed. She walks briskly towards the sofa, and sits down quite erectly in the corner of it. "There! that's pleasanter. I get so tired of being a burden." She is silent, and then she begins softly and wearily to laugh again. _Mrs. Wyatt_, smiling curiously.--"What is it, Constance? I don't at all understand what made you laugh."