"Vera, darling, Mr. Noble is in the library, and desires a private interview with you. Here is his card. Shall I say that you will receive him?" It is several days after Mrs. Vernon's party, and Lady Clive comes suddenly into the pink-hung _boudoir_ where the young countess is listlessly reclining on a satin sofa with her white arms thrown up carelessly above her head. She looks like some beautiful picture, though her cheek is pale, her lips sad, and slight, dark shadows are visible beneath her melancholy eyes. All her beautiful dark-golden hair is arranged in a rich, picturesque fashion on top of her head, and a few loose, curling tendrils wander lovingly over the broad, white, polished forehead, on which the slender, straight, black brows are so delicately outlined. She wears an exquisite morning-dress of white muslin, profusely trimmed with rich lace, and a rose-colored ribbon binds her slender waist. She starts up with a frightened cry at the words of Lady Clive. "I will not see him! I will not exchange even one poor word with him! How dare he have the audacity to come here?" she pants, growing paler still with anger, and stamping her slippered foot on the bit of pasteboard which she has cast indignantly upon the floor. Lady Clive waits until her wrath has somewhat spent itself on the innocent card, then argues, gently: "I know it will be painful to you, Vera, but might it not be better, just once, to receive him, and find out his business? You will then know what course he means to adopt, and can govern yourself accordingly." Lady Vera pauses, irresolute. Her bosom heaves with quick, indignant sighs, her dark eyes flash. "You advise me to receive him--this man whom I hate and despise, Lady Clive?" she says, wonderingly. "For just once, Vera. And only _now_ that you may learn his intentions and be on your guard against his machinations. After this time my doors shall be closed against him as against a pestilence. But you need not take my advice against your will, dear; use your own pleasure." "You do not know how I dread to enter his presence," the girl cries, with a shudder. "Decline to see him, then," Lady Clive advises. "No, I will bear it this once. I will receive him this time, but after this, _never_!" Lady Vera answers, after a moment of painful thought. "You decide well," Lady Clive comments, approvingly. "He is in the library, you say," Lady Vera asks, with her hand upon the door. "Yes. Shall I accompany you, my dear, if you dread to go alone?" "I am not afraid of Leslie Noble," the fair young countess answers, dauntlessly. "I will face him alone." She moves along the corridor with a free, proud step, glides down the stairs, and flings open the library door with an unfaltering hand, and her beautiful head held proudly, like a queen's, with defiance in her dark and flashing eyes.