Nevertheless, he found himself speculating upon which of Balzac's books Missy had been fascinated with and horrified about. He did not like to think of her as reading Balzac, and being ashamed to own it too. He always thought of her as a "severe little lady;" she seemed to him, with all her caprice and temper, and even her sharp tongue, as the embodiment of all the domestic virtues. He had liked her face that day she came out of church, with her blind aunt on her arm, and little Jay close at her side; surely she was a good woman, if there were good women in the world. Nevertheless (as he lit his cigar), he could have wished she had a better sense of justice, and did not vent on him the anger engendered by the faults of others. The next evening promptly upon the arrival of the carriage from the train, Eliza and Jay brought over "Les Petites Misères," and another of Balzac for Miss Varian from the library, and the last "Saturday Review," "Revue des Deux Mondes" and "Punch" for Miss Rothermel. Missy would not even take them off the table where her aunt had laid them down. She considered it quite humbling that he could not understand his literature had been refused. She had quite prided herself on the decision with which she had nipped in the bud that neighborliness, and here he was persistently blooming out into politeness again. "This shall be put an end to forever," she thought. "They shall go back with their leaves uncut to-morrow, and that he cannot misconstrue." CHAPTER XII. FIRE AND SWORD.