He then returned to his place; and now he had the impudence to turn to Laura, and, with an expression in which she clearly perceived a sneer, he held out his hand to her under the table, saying, "Let us make peace, naughty godmother; give me your hand." Laura's whole heart revolted, and she exclaimed, "You shall have my hand immediately." She put her hand quickly into her pocket, put on one of the cat's-skin gloves, and scratched him with it on the back of his hand. "There, take what you deserve." The Doctor felt a sharp pain; he raised his hand, and he perceived it was tattooed with red streaks. Laura threw her glove into his lap, and added: "If I were a man, I would make you feel in another way the insult you have offered me." The Doctor looked about him; his left-hand neighbor had risen; and on the other side, the master of the house, bending over the table, formed a convenient wall between them and the outer world. He looked in astonishment at the challenge in his lap; it was all incomprehensible to him; he was conscious but of one thing, that Laura, in spite of her passion, was enchantingly beautiful. He too put his hand into his pocket, and said: "Happily, I am in a position to bind your present of this morning about the wounds." He pulled out the red and black handkerchief, and began to wind it round his wounded hand; in doing which, it could not fail being seen that the hand had a most uncanny murderous appearance. When Laura saw the bloody scratches, she was shocked, but she bravely concealed her repentance, saying coldly, "At least it would be better for your hand if you would take my handkerchief as a bandage, instead of that stiff clumsy thing." "It is your handkerchief," replied the Doctor, sorrowfully. "This is worst of all," cried Laura, with quivering voice. "You have behaved towards me to-day in a manner that is highly humiliating to me, and I ask you what have I done to deserve such treatment?" "What have I done to deserve such reproaches?" asked the Doctor, in return. "This morning you sent me this with your compliments. "I?" cried Laura; "you sent me these cat's paws. But I did not send that handkerchief. My handkerchief had none of the beauty of this colored print--it was only white." "I may say the same of my gloves; they were not blessed with claws--they were plain kid." Laura turned to him, anxiously gazing into his face. "Is that true?" "It is true," said the Doctor, with convincing sincerity; "I know nothing about these gloves." "Then we are both victims of a deception," cried Laura, confounded. "Oh, forgive me, and forget what has passed." Guessing the state of the case, she continued: "I beg of you to say no more on the subject. Permit me to bind your hand with this handkerchief." He held out his hand; she staunched the blood with her handkerchief, and hastily wound it about the scratches.