“No!” she said. “I would rather you would not write to me. I want to be let alone; and it is because I want to be let alone that I am going away from Pen’yllan. I never promised one of the things you are always insisting that I promised. You may call me as many hard names as you like, but you can’t deny that----” “No!” burst forth the poor lad, in a frenzy. “You did not promise, but you let me understand----” “Understand!” echoed his young tyrant. “I tried hard enough to make you understand that I wanted to be let alone. If you had been in your right senses, you might have seen what I meant. You have driven me almost out of my mind, and you must take the consequences.” And then she turned away and left him, stunned and helpless, standing, watching her as she trailed over the grass between the lines of rose-bushes, the moonlight falling on her white dress and the little light-blue scarf she had thrown over her long, loose, dusky hair. Three years ago all this had happened, and she was with Mrs. Despard still, though of course she had visited Pen’yllan occasionally. She had not tired her patroness, if patroness she could be called. She was not the sort of girl to tire people of their fancy for her. She was too clever, too cool, too well-poised. She interested Mrs. Despard as much to-day as she had done in the first week of their acquaintance. She was just as much of a study for her, even in her most vexatious moods. “Have you a headache?” asked Mrs. Despard, after a while. “No,” answered Lisbeth. “Have you had bad news from Pen’yllan?” Lisbeth looked up, and answered Mrs. Despard, with a sharp curiousness. “How did you know I had heard from Pen’yllan?” she demanded. “Oh!” said Mrs. Despard, “I guessed so, from the fact that you seemed to have no other reason for being out of humor; and lately that has always been a sufficient one.” “I cannot see why it should be,” said Lisbeth, tartly. “What can Pen’yllan have to do with my humor?” “But you have had a letter?” said Mrs. Despard. “Yes; from Aunt Clarissa. There is no bad news in it, however. Indeed, no news at all. How did I ever exist there?” her small face lowering. “You would not like to go back?” suggested Mrs. Despard. Lisbeth shrugged her shoulders. “Would you like me to go back?” she questioned. “I?” in some impatience. “You know, as well as I do, that I cannot do without you. You would never miss me, Lisbeth, as I should miss you. It is not your way to attach yourself to people.” “How do you know?” interposed Lisbeth. “What can you know about me? What can any one man or woman know of another? That is nonsense.”