To speak by the card, there were people everywhere, rich and poor, a good deal less pleased with the world than Val Gano. Ah yes! this was why she specially interested him. It was a satisfaction to have stumbled on the explanation, for she was surprisingly much in his thoughts, this untutored child, with her bland belief in the world and in Val Gano. She was a kind of pleasant anodyne to a mind over-full of misgiving, overcharged with fear of life's panther-like capacity for quick-leaping revenge. It was the first morning since Ethan's arrival that his uncle did not appear. No, he had not had a very good night, Mrs. Gano said, when at last she came in. She changed the conversation abruptly, and went up-stairs when the letters were brought, having scarcely tasted breakfast. French postmark! A letter from De Poincy; not very long, and not much news. He wrote chiefly to ask when Ethan was coming "home" to France. "I am wondering if you had the courage to carry out your bold design of hunting up your poor relations in the West. If you did, I'm sorry for you. I see it all from here. The provincial setting which all your democracy won't prevent from getting on your nerves, the fervor of the poor relation's devotion, the bottomless pit of his need, the unblushing designs on every single woman's part to marry you, will, I fear and trust, send you back to us with a chastened spirit and a decent regret for your folly in taking exception to Mademoiselle Lucie's charming way of playing the universal game. She, by-the-way, is lost to you forever, having just married a wealthy English brewer. But there are other Lucies over here, ready to hold out their pretty hands in welcome as soon as you weary of the crudities of the New World." Ethan looked up with a smile at his poor relations, thinking how badly they played their parts. "What conspiracy are you two hatching?" he said. The two sisters, who seemed not, as a rule, to have much in common, were whispering with great animation. "Let's tell him," said Emmie. "No," said Val, getting red. "Yes, tell me." "No," repeated Val. "Why not?" urged Emmie. "He'll never tell." "Never." "Well, we're talking about the _Comet_," confessed Emmie. "You don't know about it, do you?" "No." "Of course he doesn't, silly. I'll be very angry if you tell." "Isn't a comet a difficult thing to keep quite to yourselves?" "Not ours. It's a paper." "_Emmie!_" "Well, he knows now. It's an awfully nice kind of magazine. Val and me write it. It's our secret." "Pretty kind of secret now!" said Val. "But _I_ don't care; I'm going away. I said I wouldn't do another." "But finish this one. Oh, do it, just a single solitary last time, _dear_ Val." "Do, dear Val," echoed Ethan, smiling.