She had been sitting alone a long time when she heard her mother come up the stairs and enter her own room. Mrs. Billington was as stout as she was good-natured, and her step was not that of a light-weight. An irresistible desire came, to the girl to go to her and pour out her grief, with her head pillowed on that broad and kindly bosom. She started up and hurried into the little parlor that separated her room from her mother’s. As she entered the room at one door, Mr. Jack Hatterly entered through the door opening into the corridor. Then Carmelita lost her breath in wonderment, anger and dismay, for Mr. Jack Hatterly put his arm around her waist, kissed her in a somewhat casual manner, and then the door of her mother’s room opened and her mother appeared; and instead of rebuking such extraordinary conduct, assisted Mr. Hatterly in gently thrusting her into the chamber of the elder lady with the kind of caressing but steering push with which a child is dismissed when grown-ups wish to talk privately. “Stay in there, my dear, for the present; Mr. Hatterly and I have something to say to each other. I will call you later.” And before Carmelita fairly knew what had happened to her she found herself on the other side of the door, wondering exactly where insanity had broken out in the Billington family. It took the astonished Miss Billington a couple of seconds to pull herself together, and then she seized the handle of the door with the full intention of walking indignantly into the parlor and demanding an explanation. But she had hardly got the door open by the merest crack when the discourse of Mr. John Hatterly paralyzed her as thoroughly as had his previous actions. “My dear Mrs. Billington,” he was saying, in what Carmelita always called his “florid” voice, “I thoroughly understand your position, and I know the nature of the ties that bind Carmelita to her father’s home. Had I known of them earlier, I might have avoided an association that could only have one ending for me. But it is not for myself that I speak now. Perhaps I have been unwise, and even wrong; but what is done is done, and I know now that she loves me as she could love no other man.” [Illustration] “Good gracious!” said Carmelita to herself, behind the door; “how does he know that?” “Is it not possible, Mr. Hatterly, that there is some misunderstanding?” asked Mrs. Billington. “My dear Mrs. Billington,” said Jack, impressively; “there is no possible misunderstanding. She told me so herself.” Carmelita opened her eyes and her mouth, and stood as one petrified. “Well, if I ever--!” was all that she whispered to herself, in the obscurity of her mother’s room. She had addressed just seven words to Jack Hatterly on the fishing trip, and five of these were “Apple pie, if you please;” and the other two, uttered later, were “Not very.”