"You mistake me, Carl," said Leslie Dane, a little vexed. "I do not repudiate my native land. I revere her as the noblest country upon earth, but I am from henceforth an exile, self-expatriated from her shores, and I do not wish to meet anyone who can recall memories I would fain forget." "You are a strange fellow, Leslie, I cannot understand your moods." "You do not? Shall I explain, Carl? Listen, then." Carl looked up into the dark face with its look of proud grief mingled with bitterness. "No, no; forgive my levity," he said; "I would not intrude upon your secret, dear friend. Let it rest." "It does not matter," said Leslie, his deep voice full of pain. "I will tell you, Carl. It is only this: One woman in that fair land where I was born has played me false and ruined my life. I hate and shun all Americans for her sake!" He took up his brush and went to work at his picture without another word. Carl was silent also; he was recalling that episode of three years ago when Leslie in his wild outbreak had painted out the portrait of his fair, false-hearted love. "So he has not forgotten her," he thought; "and yet he has never breathed another word of her until to-day. Ah! she will never know what a true and noble heart she cast away." He sat still awhile thinking profoundly, and referring to his letter now and then with ever-increasing pride in the lucrative sale of his picture, for Carl was a lazy fellow, and though he commenced numbers of things seldom had patience to finish them. Consequently a completed work and its ready sale had all the charm of novelty to him. "I say," he said, breaking the silence that had brooded as long as he could bear it, and returning to the charge upon his friend, "old fellow, it's a shame you should refuse such a profitable commission for a scruple I must say is not worthy of you. Do accept it, Leslie. This old fellow--let me see"--referring again to his letter--"Carlyle his name is--Colonel Carlyle--need not trouble you much with the sight of his obnoxious face, and the old lady--Favart says he is an old man, so of course she is an old lady--need only give you a few sittings. They would not trouble you long, and you need not think of them as Americans at all. Simply regard the sitter as your model, and think no more about it." Leslie Dane did not answer, but the slight smile that played around his lips showed that he had been an attentive listener to Carl's admonition. "You know," resumed Carl, seeing that Leslie would not answer, "we have been promising ourselves a trip to Paris for ever so long. I see no chance so suitable as the present when I have this pot of money to spend, and when you might so agreeably combine business with pleasure in the execution of this portrait and the enjoyment of all the pleasures of Paris. Recollect, you would be fairly lionized there." "I do not fancy being lionized," said Leslie Dane, grimly.