|Agnes sat down to the breakfast-table as if nothing had occurred, and Clare helped her to some fish, and put a portion on her own plate, and actually ate it with some appearance of appetite. Agnes tried to follow her example, but utterly failed. She could eat nothing. She thought she would be able, however, to drink her coffee, so she filled the cups, and, as usual, placed one before Clare. But Clare shook her head, saying: “I don't like coffee to-day. I somehow feel that I cannot have anything to-day that I have had on other days. I cannot touch coffee.” “Then I will take it away, and get you”-- There was a little crash. Clare had let her knife and fork fall upon her plate. “Those were the words,” she cried. “'Take her away--take her away!' And I fancied that he spoke them--he--Claude--shuddering all the time and shrinking away from me.” Then she turned suddenly to Agnes, saying: “Tell me the truth--surely I may as well know it sooner as later. Did he say those words when I entered the room?” “Yes,” replied Agnes, judging rightly that Clare would be less affected by hearing the worst than if she were left in suspense. “Yes. Claude Westwood said those words--then you”-- “Yes, but why--why--why?” cried the girl. “Why should he say such words, when only a couple of hours before--I don't think it could have been more than a couple of hours before, though if you were to tell me that it was days before I would believe you--at any rate, hours or days, he told me that he loved me--yes, and that we must get married at once. And yet he said those words?” “Dearest child,” said Agnes, “you must think no more about him. He should never have entered into your life. Have you never heard of the inconstancy of man?” “I have heard more about the inconstancy of woman,” said the girl. “But even if I had heard that all men are inconstant in love I would not believe that Claude Westwood was inconstant. You must tell me some better story than that if you wish me to believe you.” “Inconstant? Inconstant? Ah, if you but knew, Clare.” “I do know. I know that it is a lie. He is a true man. I love him and he loves me. It is you who are not constant in your friendships. You profess to care for me”-- “It is because I do care for you that”----- “That you tell me what is false?” Agnes burst into tears. Clare for a moment was rebellious. The effect of the anger, under the impulse of which she had made use of those bitter words, supported her; but in another moment she was on her knees beside her friend, with an arm round her waist, while she covered her hand with kisses. “Forgive me, forgive me for my cruelty, my dearest Agnes,” she whispered. “Ah, my dearest, you are the only friend I have in the world, and what have I said to you? You will forgive me--you know that I am not myself to-day--that I do not know what I say!”