“Something I should like you to read some time, Jack,” she said, lifting her lashes with a slight timidity, “if you would take the trouble. I really wonder how it would impress you.” “Pass it over,” said Jack Shipley good-humoredly, with his cigar between his lips. “I'll take it now.” She handed him the slip and turned partly away; he took it, glanced at it sideways, turned it over, and suddenly his look grew concentrated, and he took the cigar from his lips. “Well,” she said playfully, turning to him again. “What do you think of it?” “Think of it?” he said with a rising color. “I think it's infamous! Who did it?” She stared at him, then glanced quickly at the slip. “What are you reading?” she said. “This, of course,” he said impatiently. “What you gave me.” But he was pointing to THE OTHER SIDE of the newspaper slip. She took it from him impatiently and read for the first time the printing on the reverse side of the article she had treasured so long. It was the concluding paragraph of an apparently larger editorial. “One thing is certain, that a man in Daniel Harcourt's position cannot afford to pass over in silence accusations like the above, that affect not only his private character, but the integrity of his title to the land that was the foundation of his fortune. When trickery, sharp practice, and even criminality in the past are more than hinted at, they cannot be met by mere pompous silence or allusions to private position, social prestige, or distinguished friends in the present.” Mrs. Ashwood turned the slip over with scornful impatience, a pretty uplifting of her eyebrows and a slight curl of her lip. “I suppose none of those people's beginnings can bear looking into--and they certainly should be the last ones to find fault with anybody. But, good gracious, Jack! what has this to do with you?” “With me?” said Shipley angrily. “Why, I proposed to Clementina last night!” CHAPER IX.