"What is settled?" "Your marriage to Lord Maxwell." For reply Carolyn gave a glance of contemptuous interrogation. "Oh, yes," Prudence reasserted, "and let me tell you that every girl is not so lucky." No response. "I suppose you're flesh and blood, and not wood!" she cried, indignantly. "I don't think I'm wood." "I've a great mind to pinch you and see." "Very well." "Caro, do you remember that time when you told me how you loved Rodney?" Now the girl winced visibly beneath this cruel thrust. But she answered, promptly, "Yes." "Well, I don't believe a word of it; I don't believe you could ever love anybody,--lucky creature that you are!" Carolyn looked for one instant at the eyes fixed upon her. Then Prudence suddenly threw her arms about her cousin, and exclaimed, with an outburst of tears: "Oh, do forgive me! I'm half crazed! I don't know what I'm saying! I have to suffer so, and nobody seems to think a woman like me can suffer!" Carolyn remained rigidly quiet; she would not pretend to respond to this embrace; inwardly she turned sick at it. Yes, of course Prudence could suffer; and she ought to suffer. Carolyn was astonished at the vigor of her own resentment. And why had Rodney Lawrence's wife come here? To spy out the land? Well, she should not be much rewarded if that had been her object. Finding that her embrace and her tears seemed productive of very little, Prudence sat up and put her handkerchief to her face for a moment. "I know," she said from its folds, "that there are some things a woman cannot forgive. But, though I stole your lover away from you, I've not been supremely happy since. And I know you used to pity unhappiness." "I hope I'm still sorry for any one who is unhappy," said Carolyn, steadily. "I suppose you're going to marry Lord Maxwell; aren't you?" This question was put with abrupt rapidity, and Prudence dropped her handkerchief and darted a look at the face beside her. Carolyn could not tell why she suddenly resolved not to reply to this question; perhaps she made this resolution because of the eager curiosity which leaped from her cousin's eyes as she spoke. She did not answer; she averted her face lest Prudence should read the truth there, but she was conscious of a sense of shame as she did so. "Won't you tell me?" persisted Prudence. "I would rather not say anything on the subject," was the response. Prudence's eyes flashed fire. Until now she had not in the least believed the rumor. Was this girl--this--this--oh, was she to become Lady Maxwell, while she, Prudence Ffolliott, had cut herself off from such a congenial career as that with a husband whom she could twist this way and that--while she, because of the passion of a moment, was tied to a man who was tired of her, and whom just now she was sure she hated? Thoughts like these rushed hotly through her mind in a confused troop.