"Miss Lawrence has taught you that great and noble truth, has she? You have grown very critical of my speech and manners yourself since she came among us. Frank, Frank! what is it coming between us?" she cried, in sudden, piteous entreaty. "Your jealous imagination, Valentine. A man does not like to be doubted, frowned upon, every time he speaks to, or looks at, another woman." "Is that all? Tell me, on your honor." "Yes," he said; but his eyes shifted under her eager gaze, and a slight flush rose to his face. But she was too anxious to believe him to heed such fine changes of expression. "I _am_ a miserable, jealous creature, all fire and wicked temper," she humbly acknowledged. "I have tormented you, I know; but unfortunately for me I love you with all my heart, instead of just a little bit of it, and it is a great strong heart, dearest, if it is wayward and untamed." She leaned toward him with luminous eyes, her beauty softened, as sweet and gentle as that of any other woman. What man could resist her in such a mood? He raised her arms to his neck, and kissed her on lips and eyes. "You love me, you do really love me?" she whispered. "Love you! How can I help it, my princess?" They had a little dance at Dugarre that night—a merry, informal party. A large number of young people came out from the neighboring town, the parlors were cleared, and Uncle ’Riah, the old white-haired fiddler, was called in to play for them. It was a moonless night, and to add a little to the picturesqueness of the fine old house and grounds the negroes built a great bonfire on the lawn. It threw its ruddy light afar under the trees, and a rain of glowing sparks fell here and there on the grass, and some even floated away on wreaths of pearly smoke over the roofs. The ladies of the house were all in evening dress, but it was acknowledged that Valentine Dugarre and Helen Lawrence carried off the palm for beauty. Valentine appeared her loveliest and best. No suggestion of scorn or anger marred her face. Her dress of thin, creamy silk was Greek-like in its flowing lines and its full draperies, and her throat and arms were bare. She wore no jewels, except her engagement ring, and a single diamond star in her hair. She was radiant, yet so sweet and gentle in all her ways, that those who thought they knew her best wondered what new whim possessed her. She even smiled approval when Black led Helen out on the floor and danced with her. If he had stopped at that!—but he asked her after the dance to walk on the piazza with him. She hesitated, cast a hurried glance about the room, saw Valentine in a distant corner talking to Livingston, and consented.