I was not quite verdant enough to credit _all_ that Ada said; but I replied I was willing to forgive her, and when she asked permission to _kiss_ me, so that the reconciliation might be perfect, I offered no resistance, though I did not return the compliment, for which I think Mr. Delafield felt gratified—at least I read as much in his face. During the progress of my story Ada had alternately turned red and white, particularly at the points where I touched upon Herbert. This did not escape the observation of Mr. Delafield, and suspecting more than Ada thought he did, he half seriously, half playfully asked her “why she had evinced so much feeling whenever Mr. Langley’s name was mentioned.” Instantly the color left her face, which wore a livid hue, and her hand went up to her side as if the cause of her agitation were there, while with a half stifled moan, she said, “Oh, oh!—the pain!” Of course Mrs. Lansing asked what she meant, and Ada, in answering her, managed to dwell so long upon “the horrid pain, which she feared would become chronic,” that Mr. Delafield could not reasonably expect an answer to his question. Still, I think, he was not satisfied, and when I saw the mischievous look in his eye, as he told her “she must _certainly_ be _blistered_,” I fancied that he, too, understood her as I did. That afternoon we were again assembled upon the piazza, Mrs. Lansing, Ada, and myself, the former nodding in her large willow chair, while the latter sat upon a little stool at my feet, and with her elbow upon my lap was looking up into my face with the childish simplicity she knew so well how to assume. She was just asking me to assure her again of my forgiveness when Mr. Delafield joined us, and coming up behind me leaned over my chair, while he handed to Ada a little oblong package, saying, “I was in the village just after dinner, and seeing the Dr. I asked him about _your pain_. As I expected, he prescribed a _blister_, and at my request he prepared one, which you are to apply at night when you go to bed!” I could not see him, but I absolutely pitied poor Ada, who began to realize that the way of the transgressor is hard. The tears started to her eyes, while with a look of dismay, she exclaimed, “Oh, Richard, how could you? I never was blistered in my life. It will kill me. I can’t do it,”—and she cried aloud. Very gently, Mr. Delafield soothed her, telling her that so far from “killing her,” it would certainly “cure her,” he knew it would, and he insisted upon her trying it. At last, as an idea, perfectly natural, under the circumstances, dawned upon her mind, she looked up very submissively at him and said, “To please you, I’ll try it; though the remedy, I think, is worse than the disease.”