"Van," said Stanton gloomily, "I'd give a year's income if I had not spoken to my cousin as I did last night. She'll never forgive me. It seems as if my words had turned her into ice, she is so cold and calm; and yet her eyes were red with weeping. I have strange misgivings about the girl." "Yes, Ik," said the artist, gloomily, "we have both made an unpardonable blunder. If Miss Burton cannot thaw her out, I shall not dare to try." "With her usual perversity," replied Stanton, "she dislikes Miss Burton, and I doubt if she will listen to her." "I have great faith in her tact and genuine goodwill. It was wonderful how quickly she brought Mr. Mayhew under her genial spells. She has promised to see your cousin this evening." "I'm sorry," said Stanton, gloomily, "that it should have been at your request rather than mine. But I suppose your wishes are becoming omnipotent with her." "No, Ik; I regret to say that they weigh with her only as those of a friend," was Van Berg's quiet response. "Well, well, Van, bear with me, for I'm in a devil of a scrape." Even Miss Burton's efforts could not brighten the clouded faces that gathered at the supper-table. In truth, her attempts were brief and fitful, for she seemed absorbed in thought herself. She heard Mrs. Mayhew whisper to Stanton, "If I were a perfect stranger she could not keep me at a greater distance. I can do nothing with her or for her." To their surprise, Ida quietly walked in and took her place. Her face was very grave and very pale; the traces of her grief were still apparent, and they caused in Van Berg the severest compunction. She was now dressed richly, but plainly and unobtrusively. Her manner was quiet and self-possessed, but there was an expression of desperate trouble in her eyes that soon filled Van Berg with a strong and increasing uneasiness. She returned his bow politely, but distantly. Poor Stanton scarcely dared to look towards her. At supper, on the previous evening, he had taken no pains to conceal his contempt and displeasure; now he was unable to hid his embarrassment and fear. As in the parlor on the previous evening so now again, there was an element in Ida Mayhew's appearance or in herself that caused deep disquietude. "I'm very glad, Ida, you've changed your mind and come down," began Mrs. Mayhew, volubly. "I have not changed my mind," she replied, with such sad, stern emphasis that they all involuntarily looked at her for a moment. Poor Mrs. Mayhew was so quenched and depressed that she did not venture to speak again.