“I left Charley Thurston of my own free will, because I wanted to live in New York,” screamed the girl, really angry at last. “Look here, Jim Starbuck--I’ve had about enough of you anyhow. You can’t give me the position in life I require; and I’ve had more’n enough of your talk. This house is mine; and I paid for it, and for every dress I’ve got to my back--yes--and for this ring, too,” she added, noticing her brother’s glance. “You just go, do you hear? Clear out----” And the girl tore her brother’s coat from the nail and threw it into his lap. “You don’t mean that,” said James. “Yes, I do--I’m sick of you and all your low acquaintances. I suppose you want me to pay for your lodging, do you?” James got up, wearily. They had had many such a dispute before; but, with his feeble health and physical condition he had never managed to keep his temper so long as now. “You’ll be sorry for this, Jennie,” was all he said. “You know where to find me.” And he went out, and the front door closed behind him. Left alone, the beauty rubbed her forehead impatiently, and pouted for a few minutes. Then she took out a small case of crimson velvet from her pocket and opened it; it was a framed and highly colored photograph of herself, on porcelain, and set in gilt, with small jewels inlaid in the frame. As she looked upon it, her mouth unbent at the corners, her lips came back to their usual roguish, fascinating curves. She laid aside her dress, and robed in a splendid pink-and-lilac négligé, unbound her hair and sat for a long time before the glass, looking from it to the miniature and back again to the original. Then she took out a letter and read its contents, still smiling. And then, for the first time that evening, you might have seen a resemblance--to what? Why, for all the world--as she sat with her yellow hair falling on her full neck, with the contented, infantine smile, and the fashionably cut _robe-de-chambre_--for all the world, like Mrs. Flossie Gower. CHAPTER XIII. UNA AND THE LION. John Haviland was a banker down-town, a man of much business and of few intimate friends. He was over thirty at this time, and made no sign of getting married; which was the stranger, as his health was good, his wealth sufficient, and he cared less for the pleasures of life than for its happiness. He had no brothers nor sisters; his mother was a widow and he lived with her. Flossie said it was hard to get interested in such people as John Haviland.