“Don't be vexed with me, my poor dear girl. It may not be so--I hope not; and even if it were, he is so handsome, so agreeable, and talks so beautifully--I am sure you are not the first woman by many a dozen that has been in love with him.” “With whom?” was the sharp question, as Agatha grew quite pale. “I must not say.--Ah, yes--I must. It may be a mere supposition. I wish you would only tell me so, and set my mind at rest, and his too. He is quite unhappy about it, poor man, as I see. Though, to be sure, he could not help it, even if you did care for him.” “Him--what 'him?'” “Major Harper.” Agatha's storm of passion sank to a dead calm. She sat down again composedly, turning her flushed cheeks from the light. “This is a new and very entertaining story. You will be kind enough, Emma, to tell me the whole, from beginning to end.” “It all lies in a nutshell, my dear. Oh, how glad I am that you take it so quietly. Then, perhaps it is all a mistake, arising from your hearty manner to every one. I told him so, and said that he need not scruple visiting you, or be in the least afraid that----” “That I was in love with him? He _was_ afraid, then? He informed you so? Very kind of him! I am very much obliged to Major Harper.” “There now--off you go again. Oh, if you would but be patient” “Patient--when the only friend I had insults me!--when I have neither father, nor brother,--nobody--nobody----” She stopped, and her throat choked; but the struggle was in vain; she burst into uncontrollable tears. “You have me, Agatha, always me, and James!” cried Emma, hanging about her neck, and weeping for company; until, very soon, the proud girl shut down the floodgates of her passion, and became herself again. Herself--as she could not have been, were there a mightier power dwelling in her heart than pride. “Now, Emma, since you have seen how the thing has vexed me, though not”--and she laughed--“not as being one of the many dozens of fools in love with Major Harper--will you tell me how this amusing circumstance arose?” “I really cannot, my dear. The whole thing was so hurried and confused. We were talking together, very friendly and sociably, as the Major and I always do, about you; and how much I wished you to be settled in life, as he must wish likewise, being the trustee of your little fortune, and standing in a sort of fatherly relation towards you. He did not seem to like the word; looked very grave and very”-- “Compassionate, doubtless! Said 'he had reason to believe, that is to fear, I did not regard him quite as a father!' That was it, Emma, I suppose?” “Well, my dear, I am glad to see you laughing at it I don't remember his precise words.” “Probably these: 'My dear Mrs. Thornycroft, I am greatly afraid poor Agatha Bowen is dying for love of me.' Very candid--and like a gentleman!”