"Is she so marvellously beautiful?" Dorothy asked of me over and over again, referring to Mary Stuart. "Is she such a marvel of beauty and fascination that all men fall before her?" "That usually is the result," I replied. "I have never known her to smile upon a man who did not at once respond by falling upon his knees to her." My reply certainly was not comforting. "Ah, then, I am lost," she responded, with a tremulous sigh. "Is--is she prone to smile on men and--and--to grow fond of them?" "I should say, Dorothy, that both the smiling and the fondness have become a habit with her." "Then she will be sure to choose John from among all men. He is so glorious and perfect and beautiful that she will be eager to--to--O God! I wish he had not gone to fetch her." "You need have no fear," I said reassuringly. "While Mary Stuart is marvellously beautiful and fascinating, there is at least one woman who excels her. Above all, that woman is pure and chaste." "Who is she, that one woman, Malcolm? Who is she?" asked the girl, leaning forward in her chair and looking at me eagerly with burning eyes. "You are already a vain girl, Dorothy, and I shall not tell you who that one woman is," I answered laughingly. "No, no, Malcolm, I am not vain in this matter. It is of too great moment to me for the petty vice of vanity to have any part in it. You do not understand me. I care not for my beauty, save for his sake. I long to be more beautiful, more fascinating, and more attractive than she--than any woman living--only because I long to hold John--to keep him from her, from all others. I have seen so little of the world that I must be sadly lacking in those arts which please men, and I long to possess the beauty of the angels, and the fascinations of Satan that I may hold John, hold him, hold him, hold him. That I may hold him so sure and fast that it will be impossible for him to break from me. At times, I almost wish he were blind; then he could see no other woman. Ah, am I not a wicked, selfish girl? But I will not allow myself to become jealous. He is all mine, isn't he, Malcolm?" She spoke with nervous energy, and tears were ready to spring from her eyes. "He is all yours, Dorothy," I answered, "all yours, as surely as that death will some day come to all of us. Promise me, Dorothy, that you will never again allow a jealous thought to enter your heart. You have no cause for jealousy, nor will you ever have. If you permit that hateful passion to take possession of you, it will bring ruin in its wake." "It was, indeed, foolish in me," cried Dorothy, springing to her feet and clasping her hands tightly; "and I promise never again to feel jealousy. Malcolm, its faintest touch tears and gnaws at my heart and racks me with agony. But I will drive it out of me. Under its influence I am not responsible for my acts. It would quickly turn me mad. I promise, oh, I swear, that I never will allow it to come to me again."