Lottie quickly saw his shadowed face, and surmised the cause. Soon after, when his eyes were questioningly seeking hers, she gave him such a sunny, genial smile as to assure him that, whatever might be the cause of her somewhat distant manner, it did not result from any estrangement from him. Heretofore, when Lottie had liked a gentleman, she had been frank in showing that preference within the limits of lady-like bearing. But, for some reason, she began to grow excessively shy in manifesting any interest in Hemstead that the others could note. The reason with which she satisfied herself explained her feeling but partially. "They will think I am still trying to carry out my wicked, foolish joke." But she did long for another unrestrained talk with him, and watched keenly to secure it without exciting remark. De Forrest did all he could to prevent this, however, and Bel unconsciously became his ally. With woman's quick perception, she saw that Lottie was indulging in something more than a "mood," and felt that it was a duty she owed to her friend to prevent mischief. Thus Monday and Tuesday passed away, Lottie being too circumspect to give Bel sufficient cause for speaking plainly. Dan and Mr. Dimmerly were the only ones of the household who regarded the change in Lottie with unmixed satisfaction. Not giving a thought to the cause, they were pleased with the gentleness and attention which resulted. "Lottie," said her brother Dan, as she kissed him good-night, after telling a marvellously good story, "what has come over you? You make me think of Auntie Jane." "I must be growing good indeed, if I remind any one of Auntie Jane," thought Lottie, exultantly. CHAPTER XXIV. THE TERROR OF A GREAT FEAR. Long before Harcourt reached his law-office, he was satisfied that he had blundered foolishly, and done Miss Martell great injustice. Her right to refuse his unwelcome love was perfect, and her manner of doing so, as he understood her, had been most delicate, even in his estimation. At the same time she had never given him the slightest ground for his implied aspersion that in her pure, Christian life she shone down upon him with the cold distance of a "star." He recalled her words and bearing in Mrs. Byram's conservatory, and the degree in which his unreasonable passion had blinded him grew more apparent. "Why should I expect her to love me?" he asked himself in bitterness. "It is a hundred-fold more than I deserve, or had a right to hope, that she should put out her hand to save me." He was on the point of returning twenty times, and asking her pardon for his folly, but that bane of our life,--that hinderance to more good and happiness than perhaps any other one cause,--pride, deterred, and Monday evening passed, an unhappy one to the object of his thoughts as well as to himself.