“It is unnecessary to ask her whether I have spoken the truth or not; her very looks and manner betray that she is guilty of what I have told you,” Mrs. Richards said, scornfully. “I did not suppose, however, with her innocent face and apparently quiet, modest manner, that she could be quite so shameless. But it is always so; such cat-like natures always work in the dark.” Star’s proud little head came up with a haughty air at this taunting speech, while her blue eyes grew dark and ominous. “You are accusing me ignorantly and most unjustly,” she said, in a hard tone, but with pained and quivering lips. “How so? Do you presume to deny that you met Lord Carrol in the grounds to-night?” demanded Mrs. Richards, severely. “No.” “You _did_ meet him?” “Yes.” “And denounced him as a traitor?” “Yes. I believe him to be a traitor to truth and honor, and—_a coward_!” They were hard, cruel words to be said of Archibald Sherbrooke, whom she had loved so dearly and believed to be so noble and true, and her heart thrilled with keenest pain as she uttered them, but she believed he had basely deceived her. “Explain yourself,” commanded Mrs. Richards, bridling. “I shall explain nothing,” Star answered, coldly, yet firmly. “What I said to Lord Carrol to-night was intended for him alone. If he has chosen to betray me, the responsibility rests upon himself, and you can go to him for explanations if you choose.” “Where did you meet him first—how did you make his acquaintance?” asked Mrs. Richards, longing to get Star’s version of the story. “I decline to answer any questions upon the subject,” she returned, quietly. “I command you to tell me.” “And I still decline,” Star said, with an air that surprised both of her listeners. She was as colorless now as a block of marble, but so beautiful in her proud sorrow, her agonized scorn, that they could but regard her with wonder. “You have no right to refuse what I ask of you. I am your guardian, and I demand a truthful confession of this whole scandalous affair,” Mrs. Richards reiterated, sharply. “You have already had it, you say, from Lord Carrol’s own lips; it will therefore be unnecessary for me to repeat or enlarge upon it,” the young girl returned, with calm scorn, while her delicate nostrils dilated, and her sweet lips curled with supreme contempt. “I cannot understand—there _must_ be some mistake in all this,” ejaculated Mr. Rosevelt, his face a perfect blank. “I thought, Saturday, Star, that you——” A slight motion from her checked him in what he was going to say.