“Always!” replied Mrs. Horton. “Of course you will. Why ask such a question?” “Oh, I know I shall be, I assure you,” she replied, demurely, “but then I wanted to hear you say so, don’t you know? Now there is only one serious phase in our program—Doctor Redfield.” She still held his letter addressed to Ethel. “What would you advise, Lucy? You are so clever, and know so much better than I what is best to be done.” “My dear Mrs. Horton, will you be guided by what I say, entirely?” She was standing near an elegantly carved escritoire as she spoke. “Entirely, Lucy, I will do as you say,” replied Mrs. Horton. Quick as a flash Mrs. Osborn caught up an ivory paper-knife and tore away the envelope. “Oh, Lucy!” cried Mrs. Horton, excitedly. “Don’t! don’t—I feel so guilty.” “My dear, there is no turning back,” replied the cool and calculating Mrs. Osborn. “A title for Ethel is at stake. We must burn every bridge behind us.” Then, glancing at the letter, she read aloud: “My own dear Ethel:—I lift up my voice for the third time, and call to you. Will you not answer? I am as one in a wilderness of doubt and sorrow. My heart tells me that you have not forgotten your promise—a promise that has stimulated me with sweetest hope all these weary months of waiting. One word, Ethel,—only one word; even if it is to say that you have forgotten me. With my heart’s tenderest love, I am all your own, “Affectionately, “Jack.” “His devotion is quite amusing,” laughed Mrs. Osborn, as she seated herself before her escritoire and began writing. Presently, turning to Mrs. Horton, she said: “Here is your reply:” “Dr. Jack Redfield, “Sir:—My daughter has referred your several rather amusing and absurd letters to me for reply, and desires me to say that your communications annoy her very much. As she is already betrothed to Lord Avondale, and will be married in a short time, you certainly cannot, if you possess any gentlemanly breeding, wish to intrude further upon her your unreciprocated attentions. “Respectfully.” “Oh, Lucy,” cried Mrs. Horton, half-hysterically, “I cannot sign such a letter; I cannot indeed. Let it go unanswered.” “Just as you say,” she replied, while a tigerish look of hatred and disdain arose to her usually pretty face. “Perhaps,” she went on, in a low purring voice that required an effort to modulate, “it will be as well to dismiss all thought of Doctor Redfield. I am quite sure we shall never hear of him again.” Soon after, Mrs. Horton took her leave and, as she drove slowly homeward, she was glad that she had not signed that awful letter. She sighed a little, as if a weight rested on her conscience. “I am truly glad,” she said to herself, “that Lord Avondale will soon be with us.”