“I assure you, sir,” began Captain Clifton, gravely. “Oh! don’t assure _me_! don’t assure _me_! Assure Carolyn! What d’ye think o’ that, Carolyn? What d’ye think o’ that? More cause for ill-humor last night, than ye thought, eh! What think o’ that?” he continued, mercilessly. And Carolyn— “Oh, what a deal of scorn looked beautiful In the contempt and anger of her lip!” There are some women who cannot bear jest upon such subjects—who cannot tolerate that their lovers should look with common curiosity—far less gaze with interest or admiration “for hours,” upon any other young female face. And such a woman was Carolyn Gower Clifton. Captain Clifton knew this, and adoring her above all things, silently wished Frank and the mountain-girl both at the bottom of the Devil’s Staircase. The old gentleman chatted and laughed; Frank jested and blundered; the sprightly Zuleime sparkled and overflowed with fun and frolic, and the meal went on merrily, notwithstanding. When supper was over they adjourned to the airy summer drawing-room, where they distributed themselves according to their several humors. Miss Clifton passed imperiously down the room, and took her seat upon a distant divan. Captain Clifton followed, with a troubled air, and sat down on the low ottoman at her feet. They doubtless thought if they thought at all—that they were in a very obscure nook. But Frank had the impertinence to see them. There sat the haughty and scornful girl, with chin erect, lip curled, and eyelids cast down in disdain upon her suppliant. And there sat Archer Clifton, with his high, proud face turned up to hers, with an earnest, pleading, passionate gaze! “Now, by the venom of Cupid’s shaft!” exclaimed Frank, to himself, “I cannot see what Clifton finds to worship in that arrogant girl. If it were this bright, warm Zuleime, here, now! But _her_! I might really suspect _him_ of being a fortune-hunter, and _her_ of being an heiress, if I didn’t know that Archer Clifton is himself the heir of the entailed estate of Clifton, and that if his uncle were to die to-night, he might, if he pleased, turn all these penniless women out of the house to-morrow! Can’t understand it, for my life! But I suppose the bond of sympathy between them is their name and their pride!” “Do you find talking to yourself a very amusing pastime, Mr. Fairfax,” asked Zuleime, touching him on the elbow. “No, my dear, delightful little girl, I don’t. What a delightful thing, in a country house, is a beautiful girl of fourteen, home for the holydays—a black-eyed, red-lipped girl, in a white muslin gown and a coral necklace!” “Are your soliloquies as good natured as your conversation, Mr. Fairfax,” inquired the laughing Zuleime. “Not quite, I’m afraid, my dear.” “Do you know how to play chess, Mr. Fairfax?” she asked, opening the chess-board. “I know how to play _anything_ you wish me to play, my love—even the fool!”