I looked upon him with a more friendly countenance. The one rude word he had spoken had a wonderful effect, after the surprise of it was over. Real eyes appeared in his face, and a truthful accent pervaded his voice. I think he was beginning to think that he might confide his perplexities to me on other subjects, when Ben returned. As it was, a friendly feeling had been established between us. He said in a confidential tone to Ben, as if we were partners in some guilty secret, "You must mention it to your mother; indeed you must." "You have been speaking with Cassandra, in reference to her sister," he answered indifferently. Mr. Somers was chilled in his attempt at a mutual confidence. "Can you raise money, if Desmond should marry?" asked Ben. "Enough for both of us?" "Desmond? he will never marry." "It is certainly possible." "You know how I am clogged." I rang for some ice-water, and when the waiter brought it, said that it was time to retire. "Now," said Mr. Somers, "I shall give you just such a breakfast as will enable you to travel well--a beefsteak, and old bread made into toast. Don't drink that ice-water; take some wine." I set the glass of ice-water down, and declined the wine. Ben elevated his eyebrows, and asked: "What time shall I get up, sir?" "I will call you; so you may sleep untroubled." He opened the door, and bade me an affectionate good night. "The coach is ready," a waiter announced, as we finished our breakfast. "We are ready," said Mr. Somers. "I have ordered a packet of sandwiches for you--_beef_, not ham sandwiches--and here is a flask of wine mixed with water." I thanked him, and tied my bonnet. "Here is a note, also," opening his pocketbook and extracting it, "for your father. It contains our apologies for not accompanying you, and one or two allusions," making an attempt to wink at Ben, which failed, his eyes being unused to such an undignified style of humor. He excused himself from going to the station on account of the morning air, and Ben and I proceeded. In the passage, the waiter met us with a paper box. "For you, Miss. A florist's boy just left it." I opened it in the coach, and seeing flowers, was about to take them out to show Ben, when I caught sight of the ribbon which tied them--a piece of one of my collar knots I had not missed. Of course the flowers came from Desmond, and half the ribbon was in his possession; the ends were jagged, as if it had been divided with a knife. Instead of taking out the flowers, I showed him the box. "What a curious bouquet," he said. In the cars he put into my hand a jewel box, and a thick letter for Verry, kissed me, and was out of sight.