"Well?" I said, smiling with satisfaction that she had at last broken loose from her system of crafty adulation. "And others," she said, adroitly, "are so gentle and unselfish, that they live in the happiness of their friends. It would be a pity to cumber such with all the anxieties of wealth; one would as soon think of weighing the angels down with gold." I declare, the quickness of that woman frightened me. The sneer left her lips in a glow of smiles before it was formed. Her eyes were bent on my face innocent as a child's. She sat down by me, folding the scarlet shawl lightly around her. CHAPTER XX. ADROIT CROSS-QUESTIONING. "Now that we are talking of rich people," said Mrs. Dennison, with an air of the most natural confidence, "do tell me about this Mr. Lawrence. Is he very much in love with our Jessie, or not?" "I never heard or thought that he was in love with her, Mrs. Dennison." "Nor she with him?" The question stung me. It gave form to a painful thought that had been growing in my heart, and I felt myself blushing hotly under her glance. "Mrs. Dennison, are such questions honorable?" "Not if you cannot answer them without blushes. I beg pardon." "Are they delicate?" I urged, angrily. "Not if they touch her friends so keenly. Again I beg pardon." "Mrs. Dennison," I said, conquering the anger that burned in me like a fire, "excuse me if I seem rude, but if there is anything of excitement in my manner, it is because I am not used to canvassing the feelings of my friends, even with those nearest and dearest to me." "And me you consider a stranger," she said, deprecatingly. "Almost," I replied, with blunt truth. "And one whom you cannot like?" I bit my lips to keep back the words that pressed against them. "At my age, Mrs. Dennison, new feelings spring up slowly in the heart." She made another desperate attempt at my weak side. "At your age? My dear Miss Hyde, am I to judge what it is by that smooth cheek, or by your words?" "I am afraid it is best to be judged of by the slow growth of feelings such as we speak of," I replied, gravely. She looked down sadly, and tears came trembling into her eyes. I really think she felt it. Her habits of fascination were such that she was doubtless wounded that they could fail even with so unimportant a person as I was. "You are unkind, I would say unjust; only that feeling is seldom a matter of choice. But I, who was prepared to love you as the friend of dear Jessie, who did like you so much at the first sight, it does seem a little cruel that you should meet all this with repulsion." Her tears made me uncomfortable; one had fallen to her cheek, and hung on its roses like a dew-drop. A man, I think, would have yielded to her then and there; a quiet person of her own sex was not likely to be so impressible. But her grief touched me, and feeling that there had been something of rudeness in my speech, I strove to soften it.