"Why had she grown so pale? what was there in his sudden appearance to confuse her?" the young man was asking himself with a little throb of curious excitement. Somehow this unusual agitation on Queenie's part soothed and tranquillized him; he began to think less bitterly of Dora; some subtle influence, half painful and half pleasurable, seemed to steep his senses. Garth was quite unconscious why he wanted Queenie to look at him. He watched her graceful movements about the room with quiet satisfaction. Two days before his fancy had been taken by the soft whiteness of a dress that flowed smoothly and did not rustle, and by the shining of golden hair in the lamp-light; and now a black serge dress with snowy collars and cuffs charmed him with its nun-like simplicity. What was there in these two women, so utterly dissimilar, that fascinated him? As far as he knew he was not in love with either, although he had given the preference to Dora--Dora, who allured and yet repelled him, and for whom he now felt such bitterness of resentment. "Why are you so quiet, Mr. Garth? no one has been telling you sad stories," cried Emmie, lifting her kitten on to his knee. "I wish you would speak to Queen, she always makes things end so badly." "I am afraid your sister draws from life," he returned absently. He spoke without intention, but a shadow swept over Queenie's sensitive face. "You ought not to have listened," she said reproachfully. "It was only some nonsense to please Emmie. I make up things, any rubbish pleases her; sometimes it is a fairy story, or some odd bits one picks out of books; nothing comes amiss," she went on, bent on defending herself. "And you think a girl can make herself happy with an unrequited love preying on her?" he observed in a quizzical tone. "I don't know what women would say to such heresy. I think Emmie was right, and that little Kitty would have a great deal to bear." Queenie was silent. "Confess that you don't believe such a thing could be possible." "As what?" looking up at him with varying color. "That a girl, that Madeleine, for example, could make herself comfortable under the circumstances." "Did I say a word about comfort?" she returned with spirit. "Of course Madeleine thought her trouble a trouble, and never called it by any other name." "And of course she made herself and little Kitty miserable?" he rejoined, enjoying the play of words, but watching her keenly all the time. "She did nothing of the kind," flaring up with sudden heat. "You have not heard half my story, or you would not say such a thing." "Suppose you enlighten me," with some raillery in his tone. "Your heroine is not different from the ordinary run of women; and most of them make themselves miserable under the circumstances." "Not women like my Madeleine," with a sudden lighting-up of earnestness in her face. "I don't think men are quite like that; they don't understand."