'Hush,' in a stentorian whisper, 'on your peril not an utterance--not the ghostly semblance of a word. Aunt Milly, is repentance always such a painful and distressing disorder? Like the immortal Rosa Dartle, "I only ask for information." I will draw up a diagnosis of the symptoms for the benefit of all the meddlesome Matties of futurity--No, you are right, Livy,' as a sigh from Olive reached him; 'she was not a nice character in polite fiction, wasn't Matty--and then show it to Dr. John. Let me see; symptoms, weak eyes and reddish lids, a pallid exterior, with black lines and circles under the eyes, not according to Euclid--or Cocker--a tendency to laugh nervously at the words of wisdom, which, the conscience reprobating, results in an imbecile grin.' 'Oh, Rex, do--please don't--my head does ache so--and I don't want to laugh.' 'All hysteria, and a fresh attack of scruples--that quicksilver must be administered without delay, I see--hot and cold fits--aguish symptoms, and a tendency to incoherence and extravagance, not to say lightheadedness--nausea, excited by the very thought of Dr. Murray--and a restless desire to misplace words--"do--please don't," being a fair sample. I declare, Livy, the disease is as novel as it is interesting.' Mildred left Olive cheered in spite of herself, but with a fresh access of pain, and went in search of Richard. He was sitting at the little table writing. He looked up rather moodily as his aunt entered. 'Breakfast seems late this morning, Aunt Milly. Where is Rex?' 'I left him in Olive's room, my dear;' and as Richard frowned, 'Olive has been making herself ill with crying, and has a dreadful headache, and Roy was kind enough to go and cheer her up.' No answer, only the scratching of the quill pen rapidly traversing the paper. Mildred stood irresolute for a moment and watched him; there was no softening of the fine young face. Chriss was right when she said Richard's lips closed as though they were iron. 'I was sorry to hear what an uncomfortable evening you all had last night, Richard. I should hardly have enjoyed myself, if I had known how things were at home.' 'Ignorance is bliss, sometimes. I am glad you had a pleasant evening, Aunt Milly. I was sorry I could not meet you. I told Rex to go.' 'I found Rex kicking up his heels in the porch instead. Never mind,' as Richard looked annoyed. 'Dr. Heriot brought me home. But, Richard, dear, I am more sorry than I can say about this sad misunderstanding between you and Olive.' 'Aunt Milly, excuse me, but the less said about that the better.' 'Poor girl! I know how her interference has offended you; it was ill-judged, but, indeed, it was well meant. You have no conception, Richard, how dearly Olive loves you.' The pen remained poised above the paper a moment, and then, in spite of his effort, the pent-up storm burst forth. 'Interference! unwarrantable impertinence! How dare she betray me to my father?' 'Betray you, Richard?'