“Ah!” she said, and the bitterest scorn was in her glance and tone, “you are a prudent man, I know, but I am a fearless and reckless being, and I shall take the liberty to read out the interpretation, you no doubt wisely repress.” “No, no, dear Emilie,” expostulated Jessie, “I will beg Mrs. Tower to release me from my promise, and I will go where I shall not involve my generous friends in such painful and humiliating circumstances.” “Never! Jessie Lincoln, never!” warmly remonstrated Emilie, “you shall—” She was interrupted by the sound of footfalls and smothered voices on the piazza without. “I would not be an impertinent listener,” she said, “but I recognize Charlotte’s voice. Something of interest to you, Mr. Style, I presume, for I hear your name.” The footsteps drew nearer, and the voices grew more clear and audible. “Now we are alone, Elizabeth,” said Charlotte, “I must tell you my troubles. I had every reason to believe Mr. Style was in love with me—mamma says I had—and I have no doubt he was on the eve of a declaration, which would have made me the proudest and happiest creature in the world, when Mrs. Tower brought about the advent of that minx of a low-bred Jessie Lincoln, whose true place in the world you have been good enough to disclose. How I do despise her! I know Mrs. Tower got her here on purpose to _foil_ me. They say she manages admirably to keep them together, and that Mistress Jessie is ready to dog him everywhere, and throw herself eternally in his way. And then that saucy Emilie Jones, my worst enemy, sustains her in it all, and helps it forward. I don’t know what ridiculous things that bewitched mantuamaker wont do to raise herself into genteel society, and save any more mantuamaking. But I declare, Elizabeth, I shall _die_ without him! What shall I do? How shall I manage it? Come, you know?” Charlotte’s voice began to tremble as if she were in tears. A crimson blush—but it was the blush of indignant innocence—burnt Jessie’s face, neck and arms. She rose to go, but Mr. Style, with contempt and disgust, and utter indignation battling with discretion for the mastery in every lineament of his face, gently drew her to a seat again.