“Really, how curiously we two are mixed up together!” cried the other, with dawning impatience. “You could tell me ever so many things that I am dying to know, if you only chose to. It is provoking to have to grope about in the dark like this. And you won’t even get vexed with me, and talk back. Even that way I might learn something--and we could make it up afterward, as easy as not.” “Ah, but that is what I came resolved under no circumstances to do,” explained Ves-talia, with affable placidity. “Nothing would tempt me to get vexed with you.” “Suppose I insisted upon talking unpleasantly about the gentleman at the Museum,” suggested Adele, with potential malice in her tone. “I don’t say you can’t grieve me and hurt me, but you can’t make me angry with you. You see, I know things which you don’t know, which would entirely alter your views about me, and about other matters, if you were aware of them. So it would be unfair in me to blame you for remarks made in ignorance of the truth.” “But it is precisely against this ignorance that I protest with all my might!” said Adele with vehemence. “It is that that is unfair. It makes me ridiculous.” “I don’t see the sense of it myself,” agreed Vestalia, simply. “I always thought it would be the simplest course to tell you everything at once. Or no--what have I said?” she hastened to add, in deprecation of the other’s kindling eye; “I didn’t feel that way at first. It was I who originally suggested that you shouldn’t be told, at the start. I _was_ afraid of you, you know. But now I feel quite differently. I would gladly have you know everything--but your father has other views. It is his secret, now, much more than it is mine. I don’t think there is any reason why I shouldn’t tell you that much.” “Oh-h!” groaned Adele, in wrath at her helplessness. “Well, tell me this, anyway, how long is this tomfoolery to be kept up?” “No, don’t ask me,” answered Vestalia, sympathetically at last. “I don’t know. I can only say that I’m as tired of it now as you are. I wish you would believe that. It would make me easier in my mind.” “Well, I do believe it, then,” the dark girl replied, with impulsive readiness. “Oh, and something occurs to me that I daresay you _can_ tell me. You remember the day at the Museum. Well, the gentleman who was with you called here next day, papa having in the meantime seen you secretly, downstairs. Now, papa seemed clearly annoyed with that gentleman, when he came up and found him here. Now, why was that?”