She spoke of Blanche, however, the next time. “He came again this afternoon,” she said in her second letter, “and he wore exactly the same face as yesterday--namely, a very unhappy one. If I were not entirely too wise to believe his account of himself, I might suppose that he was unhappy because Blanche shows symptoms of not taking flight. She has been with us a great deal--she has no idea what is going on--and I can’t honestly say that she chatters any less than usual. But she is greatly interested in certain shops that she is buying out, and especially in her visits to her tailor. Mamma has proposed to her--in view of your absence--to come and stay with us, and she does n’t seem afraid of the idea. I told her husband to-day that we had asked her, and that we hoped he had no objection. ‘None whatever; but she won’t come.’ ‘On the contrary, she says she will.’ ‘She will pretend to, up to the last minute; and then she will find a pretext for backing out.’ ‘Decidedly, you think very ill of her,’ I said. ‘She hates me,’ he answered, looking at me strangely. ‘You say that of every one,’ I said. ‘Yesterday you said it of Bernard.’ ‘Ah, for him there would be more reason!’ he exclaimed. ‘I won’t attempt to answer for Bernard,’ I went on, ‘but I will answer for Blanche. Your idea of her hating you is a miserable delusion. She cares for you more than for any one in the world. You only misunderstand each other, and with a little good will on both sides you can easily get out of your tangle.’ But he would n’t listen to me; he stopped me short. I saw I should excite him if I insisted; so I dropped the subject. But it is not for long; he shall listen to me.”