"So long, you think, he will be kind to you? Florence, you do not understand the General's really noble nature. He is incapable of unkindness to any living soul--least of all capable of it to you, whom he loves so dearly. Do try to appreciate him a little more! He is devoted to you, both as his wife and as the mother of his child." He could not tell why she turned her head aside with a sharp gesture of annoyance. "The child--always the child!" she exclaimed. "I wish I had never had a child at all!" "We are straying from the point," said her brother coldly; "and we can do no good by discussing your relations with your husband. I want to know--as you say you can tell me--why Enid looks so ill." Flossy took up her fan and began to examine the tips of the feathers. "There is only one reason," she said slowly, "why a girl ever looks like that. Only one thing turns a girl of seventeen into a drooping, die-away, lackadaisical creature, such as Enid is just now." "Speak kindly of her, at any rate," said Hubert. "She is a woman like yourself, and there is only one interpretation to be put upon your words." "Naturally. You, as a novelist, dramatist, and poet, must know it well enough," said his sister calmly. "Well, remember that you have insisted on my telling you. Enid is in love. That is all. Nothing to make such a fuss about it, is it?" Hubert was silent for a minute or two. His brow was contracted, as if with vexation or deep thought. Then he said abruptly-- "I suppose it's that good-looking parson in the village. There's no other man whom she seems to know so well. I cannot say that you have taken very great care of her, Florence." "Are you really blind, or are you pretending?" said Mrs. Vane, looking at him with calm curiosity, "You are not quite such a fool as you make yourself out to be, are you? My dear Hubert, are you not aware that you are a singularly handsome and attractive man, and that you have laid siege to the poor child's heart ever since your first arrival here last autumn?" Hubert started from his seat as if he had been stung. "Impossible!" he cried. "Not at all impossible. She has seen few men in her short life--she has been very carefully guarded, in spite of your sneer at my want of caution--and the attentions of a man like yourself were quite new to her. What could you expect?" "Attentions!" groaned Hubert. "I never paid her any attentions, save as a cousin and a friend." "Exactly; but she did not understand." There was a short silence. He stood with his arm on the mantelpiece, looking through the window at the snow-covered landscape outside. His face had turned pale, and his lips were firmly set. Presently he said, in a low tone-- "You must be mistaken. Surely she can never have let you know what her feelings are on such a point? You say that she does not confide in you. How can you know?"