"No, there is not," she said, and glanced at the subject of their conversation, who stood talking to Katie in the most absorbed way. Lady Dacre comprehended the reason of Bulchester's present bitterness. But neither imagined that it was the conversation, and not the talker, that was interesting Edmonson. The girl was telling him bits of family history which he professed with truth to find fascinating. He was watching her, listening, smiling with his brightest look, speaking a word or two occasionally to draw forth more information, and Katie, sure that she was telling nothing too personal, went on, growing more animated by her subject in seeing the absorption of her companion, which in her heart she did not doubt came irom his desire to keep her talking to him. Bulchester stopped a moment and drew nearer to his companion. "When he looks like that," he said in her ear, "he is--he is,--dangerous." He straightened himself directly and walked on. Sir Temple spoke to Lady Dacre, and again Bulchester was left. But it might have been Madam Archdale who took pity upon him, for at last he obtained his introduction. Why did Katie turn so readily from Edmonson to welcome the new-comer? Was it coquetry? Did she know intuitively that the eyes of the latter held more true worship for her than the other's tones? Edmonson's eyes gleamed for a moment, and his face darkened. He looked at Bulchester from head to foot, reading him with contempt. Then with a bow that had a spice of mockery in it, as if he were amused at the rival whom he appeared not to dare to compete with, he resigned his place, and going up to Elizabeth, offered her his arm and moved away with her. "Fate will be very kind to Stephen Archdale," he said as soon as they were out of hearing, "should it substitute you for that young lady, kinder to him than to you, since he was man enough to want her." "You don't like Katie?" cried Elizabeth, ignoring the subject she shrank from. "You are the first person I ever heard of who did not." "Pardon me. I did not say that I did not like her. I was making a comparison. She is an exceedingly pretty little puppet, and she goes through all her little tricks, if I may call them so without disparagement, with a delightful docility. After the clockwork is wound up, it doesn't hitch, or stop, until it runs down. But there is nothing unexpected about her; in five minutes you get to know her like a book." "A book you have not read," cried Elizabeth with spirit. Edmonson laughed. "Nobody would venture to predict your next acts or words," he said; "he would be a bold man that tried." "No," she answered with sadness in her gravity. "I never know them myself. I have none of that poise which it is worth such a struggle to gain. That is the reason why--." She stopped, perhaps through consciousness that the conversation was getting toward egotism; perhaps because she did not want to give confidence where it was better that she should not.