“No, Katie!” Frank said, half amused, half vexed at finding his wife thus early set against the friend for whom he had already fought so many hard battles. “Don't you like him, then?” “He is amusing,” Katie said, indifferently, “but oh, Frank! he is so false. My flesh crept all over when he shook hands with me this morning.” “Now, that's not like you, Katie; I am sure he made himself very agreeable. I don't like you to take prejudices against men I have so long known.” “I am sorry, Frank,” she said, simply, “but I can't help myself. A man I don't like at first sight I never like. A man I do like, I like very much; and I always find I am right. It is an instinct, or a prejudice, if you like, Frank, but in some things instinct is stronger than reason.” Frank was vexed, but he only said, “Well, Katie, one can't argue against a prejudice. Only, remember I like Fred Bingham, and have always found him a very good fellow, and I have known him for many years. Besides, Katie, you know your prejudices are sometimes erroneous.” His wife made a gesture of dissent. “Come, Katie, you know you almost hated me at first, and yet I think you like me a little now.” Katie coloured. “You silly boy, you know that was a different thing; you know why I hated you.” “No, really, Katie; why?” But this was a secret Katie could only tell when she had nestled close up to her husband, and his arm was round her waist. Then she looked up in his face, and said, “I hated you, Frank, because you were making me love you before I thought you loved me.” “And now, Katie,” Frank said presently, “I must tell you what I have learned from Fred Bingham, and it has affected me very much, dear.” Katie was all attention now, and took her stand by her husband's chair, so that she could pet him if such a step were necessary. “It is rather a difficult thing for a man to say, Katie, and it is only because I was really ignorant and wholly innocent in the affair that I can tell you at all. I am very much afraid that, without the slightest intention on my part, I have made a very dear, good girl unhappy.” Katie drew a little farther off now. “Alice Heathcote?” “Yes, dear, Alice Heathcote; Fred says, and he was certainly quite in earnest about it, that my uncle's anger is caused by his disappointment at my not marrying Alice. He says my uncle has harped upon the subject until he thinks with me that his brain has gone a little wrong. But the worst of it is, he is convinced that Alice—well, it seems absurd, Katie—did love me, and that my uncle's indignation and anger are upon her account.” “You are sure, quite sure, Frank, that you never made love to her?”