"Yes, that was the 'little private affair,' but I find that you have already won the prize; allow me to congratulate you." Louis said this in a frank, pleasant manner, appearing to take his own disappointment with so much good nature, at the same time blending a certain degree of sadness in his tone as quite to deceive Everard and win his sympathy. But the thundering black look which he cast at Isabel fully convinced her that she was right. "You will dine with us, of course," said Everard, cordially. "I shall do so with pleasure," returned Louis. Isabel bit her lip. "Just to see how much he can annoy me," she thought. But if this was his object he must have been disappointed, so totally unconscious of his presence did Isabel appear, and when he addressed her personally her manner was colder than even Everard thought necessary. The heat of the rooms became very oppressive during the evening, and Isabel stepped out on the lawn to enjoy the refreshing breeze, but was soon surprized to find that Louis had followed her. "Let us at least be friends," he said. "You will remember that it was not in anger we last parted." But Isabel was silent. "You doubt me," he continued. "I do not blame you, but you are harsh, Miss Leicester." "Not harsh, but just," returned Isabel. "Friends we can never be; enemies I trust we never were." "You draw fine distinctions. May I ask what place in your estimation I am permitted to occupy?" said Louis, sarcastically. "No place whatever, Dr. Taschereau; I must ever regard you with indifference," returned Isabel, coldly. "Be it so," he replied, angrily. "You have obstinately refused all offers of reconciliation, and must therefore take the consequences." "The consequences? You speak strangely, Dr. Taschereau." I repeat: the consequences. I determined long since that you should never marry another, and my sentiments on that subject have not changed. No; I vow you shall not!" he added, with the old vindictive expression. "How dare you hold such language to me, sir?" cried Isabel, indignantly.