“‘Of course _you_ thought so,—perfectly natural, the wish being father to the thought.’ How that made him blush and stammer,—almost as badly as the Silent Tomb in its courting days. Now, boys” (meaning her husband and the subscriber), “I leave it to you: wasn’t I a regular Macchiavelli? Didn’t I manage it neatly? You see it would not have done to let him see that I was acting as Mary’s friend, even though without her knowledge and consent; and she would never have forgiven me. So, at the very outset, I planted an interrogation-point in his mind. ‘What is she coming to?’ he kept thinking; but I was _there already_. I had made my reconnoissance and found out where the enemy was weak; but, as you veterans know, after a reconnoissance, the trouble is to get back to camp without loss. This is how I managed that: ‘To begin,’ said I, ‘with Mary Rolfe. Her you love. That’s admitted? Well, silence gives consent. Now, whether you have told her so in words or not is more than I can tell; for, although Mary and I are very intimate, girls do not—’” “Oh!” grunted Charley. “Well, in theory they do not,” replied Alice, laughing. “‘Whether you have told her in words,’ said I— “‘I have told her neither in words nor otherwise,’ said he. “‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘that’s strange! strange, that you should have kept her alone in darkness. You must be aware that you have told every one else, as plainly as looks, at least, can speak. But I must proceed; _I have no time to discuss that_.’ ‘One moment,—you say that my looks have revealed my sentiments. Are you quite sure of this?’ ‘The fabled ostrich and the sand!’ said I, laughing. ‘Confound it! Excuse me,—well, I suppose I deceive myself, as other men do. There is our friend Charley, for instance, the woman-hater! Now, he fondly imagines that nobody knows that he adores somebody!’” “Fondly! H’m! Well, go on,” said Charley. “I colored faintly at this, for blushing is becoming to me. ‘And, yet,’ said I, ‘I venture to say that the somebody in question knew what was taking place in his mind even before he suspected it.’ ‘Did you really?’ asked he. ‘I have no doubt _she_ did,’ said I. ‘All women are alike in that,’ I added; ‘_but let us proceed_.’ ‘One moment,’ said he; ‘if all women are alike in this intuitive power, then I infer that Miss Rolfe cannot fail to have remarked that I—’ Here I gave my shoulders a diplomatic shrug, which brought him to a dead pause. He nodded his head gently up and down a little while, and seemed in great perplexity. ‘Miss Carter,’ said he, suddenly looking up, ‘will you be my friend and advise me?’ ‘I am your friend,’ said I, ‘and will do what I can in the way of advice.’ Then he looked down for a long time, his face all corrugated with cross-purposes. My blood began to run a little chill. Was the great mystery about to be revealed?