"Yes; I heard your heart's secret." Claire's face drooped. "What do you mean?" she asked, deprecatingly. "My darling, I mean that your heart spoke through your voice, and it belied your words. Why did you deny your love for so noble a man?" Claire raised her head. "I didn't!" she said, suddenly, as if driven to bay. "No," smiled Mrs. Ralston. "You were a wily little serpent. But you deceived him." "I don't care," doggedly. "Now you are telling a fib!" "Well, I am not sorry, then," getting hold of her monitor's hand. "Why do you turn against poor me, when I am trying to do my duty?" "Because you are not doing your duty." "Yes, I am; indeed, I am. You don't know." "Then tell me, and let me be your friend and adviser." "But you can't advise," objected Claire, "because you don't know the--the other one." "Well, I do know you." "There it is!" burst forth the champion of the absent. "You know me, but you don't know what a worthless, unattractive little imp I am compared to her. You don't know her, but you shall! And when you do, poor me will have to take a seat lower down in the tabernacle of your affections." "I wonder if this 'other' would so readily resign her lover to you?" she said. "Would she!" flashed Claire. "Would she _not_? Has she not? Ah, if you knew her, you would never say that!" Then suddenly capturing the other hand of the lady, she said, in quieter but very grave tones: "Can you listen to a long story, Mrs. Ralston; rather to several stories combined in one? I am going to tell you what I have so much wanted you to know--the story of Madeline Payne." Mrs. Ralston expressed her more than willingness to hear all that Claire had to tell, and the girl settled down comfortably on the ottoman at the feet of her friend, and began at the beginning. It was indeed a long story, for Claire omitted nothing. As she told how Madeline had exposed to her the baseness of Percy, Mrs. Ralston started up, her face pale as death, and then sank back in her chair. "Percy!" she cried. "What--what is his other name?" Claire stared at her in amazement. "What is it, Mrs. Ralston--you are ill?" "No," almost gasped the lady; "tell me--his name." "I did not intend to speak his name," Claire said, slowly. "It is Edward Percy." Mrs. Ralston was on her feet in an instant, her face flushing with excitement. "Come with me!" she almost shrieked. "Quick! to my room." Wondering vaguely, Claire followed. Mrs. Ralston almost flew to her apartment. She flung open the door, and in an instant was on her knees beside a trunk, opening trays and searching for something eagerly. "Look!" she cried, suddenly thrusting out something toward Claire; something from which she averted her own face. "Look, did you ever see that face?" The girl gave one glance and uttered a sharp cry. It was a miniature painted on ivory; painted years ago, but she knew it only too well. Mrs. Ralston regained her feet, trembling so that she could scarcely stand.