Miss Delano had persuaded Clara to defer her business in Boston until the next day, and spend the intervening hours with her. “Albert seldom dines at home,” she had said, “and he comes in, generally, late at night; so you will not run much risk of meeting him.” Clara replied that she believed she could meet him without the slightest discomfiture, and would even like to prove it. While they were speaking the street door opened, and a minute after Dr. Delano entered the presence of Clara and his sister. He showed unmistakable signs of confusion when Clara rose and greeted him with the simple friendliness of a common acquaintance. At dinner he spent most of the time looking at Clara. She was gay and chatty, handsomer than she had ever been. Was this the woman who had, as it were, clung weeping to his feet, imploring the return of his lost love? Was this smiling, happy woman, who sat facing him, discussing the dinner with excellent appetite, and coolly talking of extending business operations, the same soft, dependent, adoring creature who had slept in his arms and lived only in the sunlight of his smiles and caresses? He could scarcely believe it. Certainly he had never known her, then. This could not be his wife: it was a grander presence, an imperial, commanding woman, the glance of whose strong eyes, his own could hardly support. She inspired him with something like awe; and just in proportion as she seemed unapproachable, did the desire to approach her increase. Clara noticed the interest she excited in him, but she read his heart like an open book; she saw not love, not tenderness and regret, but the hope of conquest. Had she read tenderness there, her triumph would have been robbed of all its worth. This triumph was much to her. This man had used her most helpless fondness as a weapon against her, and had met her despairing tenderness with that mocking, superior calmness that only indifference can create. It was sweet to her to be able to meet his gaze proudly, to smile upon him, while her eyes said plainly, “You are nothing to me now.” During the evening Clara kept close beside Miss Charlotte. Dr. Delano was vexed that he could get no moment alone with her. Of course he could have asked for a private interview. Clara expected that he would; but he could not bring himself to do this, and the only other alternative was to go boldly to her room, after she retired. This he decided to do. It was characteristically marital and wholly cowardly, though very natural to such men as Albert Delano. Not two minutes, therefore, after Clara entered her room, she heard a well-known step approaching. The instinct of the slave for self-defence caused her quickly and noiselessly to slide the bolt of her door. The act was hardly accomplished when he knocked softly. “Well?” with the rising inflection, was the only answer. “May I come in, Clara? I wish to see you.” “No, Albert, you cannot see me here.” “Why?”