“I think that you are alarming yourself quite unnecessarily, Emma. It is possible that this girl may repeat anything that she chances to overhear, and it is probable that she will do her best to strike up a flirtation with Henry, if he is foolish enough to allow it; for persons of this kind always avail themselves of such an opportunity—generally with a view to future compensation. But Henry is a cautious individual, who has never been known to commit himself in that fashion, and I don’t see why he should begin now though I do think it would be a good thing if that young lady could be sent about her business. At the worst, however, there would only be some temporary entanglement, such as happens every day, and means nothing serious.” “Nothing serious? I am sure it would be serious enough if that girl had to do with it: she is not a flirt—she looks too strong and earnest for that kind of thing; and if once she made him fond of her, she would never let him go.” “Perhaps,” answered Ellen; “but first of all she has to make him fond of her, and I have reasons for knowing, even if she wishes to do this, that she will find it a little difficult.” “What reasons?” asked Emma. “Only that a man like Henry does not generally fall in love with two women at the same time,” Ellen answered drily. “Is he—is he already in love, then?” “Yes, dear; unless I am very much mistaken, he is already in love—with you.” “I doubt it,” Emma answered, shaking her head. “But even if it should be so, there will be an end of it if he hears of my behaviour on that night. And he is sure to hear: I know that he will hear.” And, as though overcome by the bitterness of her position, Emma put her hands before her eyes, then turned suddenly and walked into the house. CHAPTER XII. ELLEN FINDS A REMEDY. When Emma had gone Ellen settled herself comfortably in a garden chair, sighed, and began to fan her face with a newspaper which lay at hand. Her mind was agitated, for it had become obvious to her that the position was full of complications, which at present her well-meant efforts had increased rather than diminished. “I only hope that I may be forgiven for all the white lies I have been forced to tell this morning,” she reflected. Ellen did not consider her various embellishments of the truth as deserving of any harsher name, since it seemed to her not too sensitive conscience, that if Jove laughs at lovers’ perjuries, he must dismiss with a casual smile the prevarications of those who wish to help other people to become lovers.