_Constance._--"No, no! I can't let you blame yourself to save me from self-reproach. I know papa was ridiculous. But what made me angry was this thought that you were laughing at _him_. I couldn't bear that. I shouldn't have minded your laughing at me; but at papa!" _Bartlett_, sadly.--"I happened to be laughing much more at myself than your father. Where is the General?" _Constance._--"He has gone with mamma. They wondered where you were, and I said you were coming back again." _Bartlett._--"How did you know?" _Constance._--"I thought you would come,--that you would upbraid yourself for my bad behaviour, and return to excuse it to me. You see what perfect faith I--we--have in you." _Bartlett_, earnestly.--"Have you indeed perfect faith in me?" _Constance._--"Perfect!" _Bartlett_, vehemently.--"But why, _why_ do you trust me? You see that I am hasty and rude." _Constance._--"Oh no, not rude." _Bartlett._--"But I assure you that I am so; and you have seen that I laughed--that I am wanting in delicacy, and"-- _Constance_, devoutly.--"How can you say that to _us_, when every day, every hour, every instant of the last month has given us proof of unimaginable kindness in you!" He eagerly approaches and takes her hands, which she frankly yields him. "Your patience, your noble forbearance, which we so sorely tried, has made us all forget that you are a stranger, and--and--to me it's as if we had always known you"--her head droops--"as if you were a--an old friend, a--brother"-- _Bartlett_, dropping her hands.--"Oh!" He turns away, and pacing the length of the room reapproaches her hastily. _Constance_, with a little cry.--"Mr. Bartlett! Do look! Did you intend to trample my canvas and colours under foot?" She makes as if to stoop for them. _Bartlett_, his manner undergoing a total change as if he had been suddenly recalled to himself at a critical moment.--"Don't!" He hastily picks them up, and puts the canvas on the easel and the colours on the table. With a glance at the canvas: "Ponkwasset doesn't seem to have been seriously injured by his violent usage. Shall you like to try your hand at him again to-morrow?" _Constance._--"Oh, yes. But on one condition." _Bartlett._--"Yes." _Constance._--"That you have a little faith in _me_, too." _Bartlett._--"Oh, Miss Wyatt"-- _Constance._--"I used to have a bad temper, and now that I'm getting better it seems to be getting worse. Try to believe in me enough to know that when I do or say some violent thing, I'm ashamed of it; and that when I wounded you, I really meant to hurt myself; that I-- Oh, you know, Mr. Bartlett, how much you've borne from us, and how much we owe you; and if you did anything now to make us think less of your unselfish goodness, we never could forgive you!" Bartlett remains with bowed head. "I must go, now." Gaily: "Perhaps to-morrow, when we resume our lessons, you'll tell me what you meant to-day, when you couldn't explain yourself."