“Mrs. Dunn was watching you at a little distance while you carried on your little flirtation with her lover.” “Flirtation!” cried Italy, with a resentful toss of her pretty head. “It looked like it,” he replied pointedly, although with a smile. “He clasped your hand, and you looked into each other’s eyes with absorbing interest.” “So you were watching, too!” the girl exclaimed, provoked. “I was with the others. Pardon me,” Emmett answered, in a quiet tone, but with a look of pain. She saw the pained look and her anger melted quickly. Emmett Harlow had one of those rare natures that always inspire kindly thoughts. No one could be angry with him long. “It was not a flirtation, Mr. Harlow,” she said gently. “Mr. Seabright was only asking me to be his friend. He was my dead father’s friend, you know, and he wished also to be mine.” “And you promised him?” asked Emmett Harlow gravely. “How could I refuse his offered friendship--I who have so few friends?” she exclaimed pathetically. “You have one friend, Miss Vale, who would lay down his life for you!” exclaimed the young man fervidly, and Italy, with a blush and start, realized that she had a lover--a lover, that desire of every young girl’s heart. But when he went on in tender, fervent words to tell her of his love and his hopes, she begged him to desist. “I will be your friend always, but I shall never love nor marry. I have no time for such trivial things. I have a greater mission in life,” she replied, almost loftily. The rejected lover stared at her in profound surprise. “A greater mission,” he murmured. “Not--not--woman’s rights, I hope.” “N-not exactly,” Italy answered vaguely, and at this moment she became aware that Mr. Murray and Alys Audenreid were observing her rather closely. She could fancy without hearing a word that Alys was saying something spiteful. What she was saying was this: “Mr. Murray, your little protégée is a dreadful flirt.” “How can you say so?” he cried, but yet he was not blind. “Only look at her now how she is leading poor Emmett Harlow on,” continued the pretty blonde; “and just before we started she was making love with her eyes to Mr. Seabright. She even gave him her hand to hold. I could see that Aunt Ione was furious. You know, he tries her sorely with his flirtations. I do believe that his promise to marry her is all moonshine.” “Why don’t she give him his congé, then? He has postponed the wedding twice, I know, and the old women say, don’t they, Alys, that postponed weddings are unlucky?” he rejoined carelessly, trying to attend to her and yet lose no glimpse of the pretty by-play over yonder, the eager face of Emmett, the downcast one of the girl. “Emmett is rich and well-born. Would he marry poor Italy, with the brand of her mother’s disgrace hanging darkly over her young life?” he mused. At that moment Emmett was saying to the young girl: