“Like him?” said Miss Earle, with a fierce light in her eyes, as she looked at her tormentor. “Yes, I like him, and I’ll tell you more than that;” she bent over and added in an intense whisper, “I love him, and if you say another word to me about him, or if you dare to discuss me with him, I shall go up to him where he stands now and accept him. I shall say to him, ‘George Morris, I love you.’ Now if you doubt I shall do that, just continue in your present style of conversation.” Blanche leaned back in the steamer chair and turned a trifle pale. Then she laughed, that irritating little laugh of hers, and said, “Really I did not think it had gone so far as that. I’ll bid you good morning.” The moment the chair was vacated, George Morris strolled up and sat down on it. “What has that vixen been saying to you?” he asked. “That vixen,” said Miss Earle, quietly, “has been telling me that you and she were discussing me this morning, and discussing the conversation that took place last night.” “It is a lie,” said Morris. “What is? What I say, or what she said, or what she says you said?” “That we were discussing you, or discussing our conversation, is not true. Forgive me for using the coarser word. This was how it was; she came up to me—” “My dear Mr. Morris, don’t say a word. I know well enough that you would not discuss the matter with anybody. I, perhaps, may go so far as to say, least of all with her. Still, Mr. Morris, you must remember this, that even if you do not like her now—” “Like her?” cried Morris; “I hate her.” “As I was going to say, and it is very hard for me to say it, Mr. Morris, you have a duty towards her as you—we all have our duties to perform,” said Miss Earle, with a broken voice. “You must do yours, and I must do mine. It may be hard, but it is settled. I cannot talk this morning. Excuse me.” And she rose and left him sitting there. “What in the world does the girl mean? I am glad that witch gets off at Queenstown. I believe it is she who has mixed everything up. I wish I knew what she has been saying.” Miss Earle kept very closely to her room that day, and in the evening, as they approached the Fastnet Light, George Morris was not able to find her to tell her of the fact that they had sighted land. He took the liberty, however, of scribbling a little note to her, which the stewardess promised to deliver. He waited around the foot of the companion-way for an answer. The answer came in the person of Miss Katherine herself. If refusing a man was any satisfaction, it seemed as if Miss Katherine Earle had obtained very little gratification from it. She looked weary and sad as she took the young man’s arm, and her smile as she looked up at him had something very pathetic in it, as if a word might bring the tears. They sat in the chairs and watched the Irish coast. Morris pointed out objects here and there, and told her what they were. At last, when they went down to supper together, he said—