Mr. Seabright had been absent from Boston nearly six weeks, visiting a brother out West, he said, and Italy had not thought of him during his absence. The episode of that day at Winthrop when she had asked him, as her father’s dearest friend, to help her trace her father’s murderer, had almost passed from her mind, in the stress of later hurrying events. But everything rushed back upon her now, and she descended in eager haste to meet and welcome the caller. Fresh, bright, debonair as the morning, he took her hand, exclaiming: “It is a great pleasure to meet you again, my little friend.” His beaming smile, his friendly voice went like a ray of sunshine to Italy’s sore heart. “I only returned yesterday, and called on Mrs. Dunn last evening, of course,” he went on, in his blithe fashion, his bright eyes searching hers almost tenderly. “I saw Alexie, and she told me where to find you, so I came at the earliest permissible hour this morning. Have you forgotten our compact of friendship, little one?” She smiled in answer, and he chattered on: “You have thought hardly of me, perhaps, for appearing to neglect the earnest request you made of me the day we went yachting. Well, there were reasons--and I came here to-day to explain them. And I brought these as peace-offerings.” The peace-offerings were a new novel by a fashionable author, and an exquisite bunch of hothouse flowers. “Alexie told me you were going to the theater to-night, so I thought the flowers would be very welcome.” “They are. Thank you very much for remembering me,” she answered gratefully. She was so lonely, poor child! and kindness went straight to her sad heart. His keen eyes were regarding her expressive face intently. “You don’t look happy,” he said tenderly. “Never mind, I will try to cheer you up, now that I am back in Boston. So you are intimate with the Audenreids, eh?” “Only with Alexie. Alys and her aunt seem to dislike me.” “Jealous of you,” he commented gaily. “Ever been to their house, Miss Vale? Ever seen Mrs. Dunn’s mother?” “No,” she answered. “Well, you ought to. ‘Ma,’ as Mrs. Dunn calls her, is such an oddity she would amuse you, only they keep her so carefully in the background. Give you my word, I was engaged to Ione before she ever permitted me to see her ma. Kind old soul, but ridiculous--very. Shoddy in the extreme. Parlor hung round with glaring, cheap chromos.” There rushed over Italy the words Emmett Harlow had said to her: “Percy Seabright is not true nor sincere. He makes fun of everything about Mrs. Dunn, yet pretends to be her friend, even her lover.” The smile froze on her sweet lips, and her glance grew severe. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Seabright,” she exclaimed, “but I do not like to hear you ridicule Mrs. Dunn in that fashion. It is not fair. She is your fiancée, is she not?”