"I have, I have," exclaimed Isabel, warmly, "but still you could not expect me to meet him." "I don't see why you should not; it would have been better to have done so than, by acting as you have, lead him to suppose that you have not overcome your former attachment." "It is utterly impossible, for him to think that," returned Isabel hotly, "I told him differently long ago; no," she added indignantly, "I have not the slightest shadow of affection for him; but I cannot, will not, subject myself to his insufferable insolence. You don't know him, or you would not expect me to do so," and the hot tears welled up into her eyes. "I cannot hear my son's friend aspersed, Miss Leicester, especially when he is my guest," said Mrs. Arlington, stiffly, "at the same time I don't, of course, mean to justify his former conduct towards you; and with regard to the children, do not let it occur again. You may make yourself happy about the doctor, as he returns by the early train in the morning, for he is anxious about his little girl, who is only now recovering from a serious illness." On entering the drawing-room, Isabel found Everard on the sofa looking very pale and rather sad. "I am sorry to see you so ill," she said, "I came to give you a little music, but I'm afraid you will not be able to bear it." "On the contrary I think it would do me good; but why would you not come this afternoon?" "I am here now." "But why not before? Was it not unkind?" "It was not so intended." "Will you not give me the reason? "You must not ask me; believe that I had sufficient cause." The words were not such as he would have, but the manner was so winning that he could not choose but be satisfied. "I am here now, solely on your account, to amuse you as you like best. You must have been very ill," she said, regarding him kindly. "Yes, I am awfully weak," he returned, "it seems so strange to me, I have usually been so strong." "You will soon get strong here," replied Isabel, cheerfully. "Not if you plague me as you did this afternoon," he said reproachfully. "Don't be angry," she pleaded. "Not angry, but hurt," he said. "I couldn't help it," she answered, almost with a sob. "It did seem a chilling reception, a strange coming home, so cold, so utterly without welcome, and I had longed so much to come. "It was not my fault they were all out." "Yes, they were all out, and you wouldn't come." "You are angry," she was crying now, her face down on her hands. "I am a brute," he said. "Oh, no; but I am a naughty girl," and seating herself at the piano, she asked what he would have. She had not thought of the seeming neglect, she had not thought what he would feel at finding Alice the only one to receive him. She could not help it she told herself, perhaps so, but she had been selfish, very selfish; she was sorry, sorry that Everard should take it so hardly; but even so, did it occur again, she could not act differently. "What will you have," she asked.