Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel ignored her departure entirely, and did not show themselves, much to Brownie’s relief. As Wilbur, with clouded brow, and white, compressed lips, assisted her into the cab, he asked: “Where to, Miss Douglas?” “To the ‘Washington’ for the present. It is a good hotel and has a familiar sound, which seems quite homelike,” she answered, trying to smile, but he saw that her lips quivered. She felt inexpressibly desolate and forlorn. “Then if I address a note to you there within a few days or a week, you will get it,” he said. “Yes.” “May I call?” “No, Mr. Coolidge, I prefer you should not; it would be wiser not to do so at present,” Brownie answered, gently, but firmly. She knew if she gave him permission, it might lead him to hope, and, besides, it might cause her further trouble if his mother and sister should discover that he was visiting her. He colored, wrung her hand, and shut the door; then giving her direction to the driver, she was whirled away. Wilbur returned to the house very sore at heart. Life seemed to him very dark just then; its brightness had all vanished with Brownie. He went back to the library. No one was there. He passed on upstairs to his mother’s rooms, and found both her and Isabel within. They had been watching his leave-taking of the despised governess, and now turned upon him, with faces of scorn. “Now that your inamorata has departed, I hope you will show some common sense, Wilbur,” his mother said, sharply. He took no notice of the remark, but handed her the recommendation, with the money inclosed, in silence. “What does this mean? Ah! she would take only what was due her, and you did not give her the recommendation, after all,” she said, in tones of satisfaction, as her quick eye ran over it. “I did not give it to her?” cried her son, angrily. “Of course I gave it to her; but the poor, insulted girl refused to take it; she refused to obtain another situation upon your recommendation.” “The upstart! I’d like to box her ears soundly for putting on such airs!” exclaimed Isabel, spitefully. “Upstart, indeed! I’ll warrant that there is better blood now in her veins than ever flowed in ours. She has been born and bred a lady, which is more than I can say of you. There is some mystery about her, I admit; but, mark my words, the time will come when both of you will be glad to cultivate her acquaintance, and when you will rue the day that you, led on by your curiosity and covetousness, ever meddled with her treasures, and drove her from your house by your abuse.” Wilbur Coolidge spoke indignantly and at random, but in after months he remembered his words, and wondered at the truth of his prophecy. Before he had concluded there came a rap upon the door. Isabel opened it. A servant stood without bearing a silver salver, upon which lay a card. “A gentleman to see Miss Douglas,” he said, bowing respectfully.