The girl was conquered, so they thought, mother and daughter; and Constance, with a little internal sigh and a twinge of shame at her cowardice, waited to see the letter read and to save Fan the pain of answering the searching questions which her mother would be sure to ask. “Dear Fan, let me see the letter,” said Mrs. Churton. “Oh, dear Mrs. Churton, anything but that! I can't let you see it--I am so sorry! When Constance read it and began to speak angrily of Mary, I said to myself that no one should ever see it again.” “Have you then destroyed it?” “Oh, no,” she replied, involuntarily touching her bosom with her hand, “but I cannot show it.” “Very well, Fan, let us say no more about it,” returned the other coldly, and withdrawing her arm from the girl's waist. And after a few moments of painful silence she rose and left the room. Fan looking up met her friend's eyes fixed on her face. “Do you think Mrs. Churton is very angry with me, Constance?” she asked sadly. “I think that she is offended. And surprised too, I believe.” Then she came nearer and took the girl's hand. “You have surprised me a great deal, I know. I am not yet quite sure that I understand your motives for refusing to show the letter. Perhaps your only reason was that you would not allow Miss Starbrow to be blamed at all--I am not questioning you. In any case you make me feel ashamed of myself. You have made me feel such a coward, and--it was a poor spiteful thing to say that I would tear up the notes and send them back to the giver.” Fan made no reply, but stood with eyes cast down as if thinking of something else; and before long she made some excuse to go to her room, where she spent the rest of the day shut up by herself.