"I am glad it does not ache any longer," she said, unsuspiciously. "You were sadly missed from among us this evening, my dear," she continued in a light, bantering tone. "Mr. Revington was exceedingly distrait; Miss Smith teased him for a song, but he gave her such a doleful one that he received no encores whatever." Irene looked so plainly disgusted at the mention of her lover's name that Mrs. Leslie forebore to tease her. She delicately changed the subject. "Mr. Stuart came back from his trip to Florence this evening, and brought us some sad news," she said. Irene tried hard to look interested in this communication, but failed dismally. Her own troubles absorbed all her care. "There has been the most terrible ocean disaster," continued Mrs. Leslie. "Two American steamers, one homeward bound, the other en route for Italy, collided in mid-ocean at midnight, with a horrible loss of human life. Is it not awful?" Irene tried to look properly shocked, but heart and brain were so numbed by her own grief that she could scarcely comprehend the extent of the calamity her friend was bewailing. "It is very dreadful," she murmured, feebly. "Is it not?" said Mrs. Leslie, in awe-struck tones; "and, only think, Irene, I was personally acquainted with one of the passengers who perished in the wreck. I met him once while visiting my sister in Baltimore. He was very handsome and agreeable, besides being very wealthy. His name was Guy Kenmore." She paused, and uttered a cry of alarm in the next breath. Irene had gasped convulsively once or twice, then fainted dead away. CHAPTER XXVII. Mrs. Leslie was filled with dismay and terror at the result of her thoughtless communication to her _protege_. "What a silly tattler I am to tell such shocking things to that poor sick child," she said to herself, with lively compunction. Then she flew to the dressing-table, and securing a bottle of _eau de cologne_, proceeded to drench Irene's face vigorously. The result of her treatment was that Irene speedily gasped, shivered and opened her eyes. "Oh, you are alive yet, are you, my dear?" exclaimed her friend. "I was afraid I had killed you with my foolish tales." "Then it wasn't true--you were jesting with me?" exclaimed the girl, unconsciously clasping her small hands around her friend's arm, and lifting her dark, anxious eyes to her face. "Eh? what, my dear?" Mrs. Leslie asked, rather vaguely. "The wreck, you know--the people who were drowned," Irene answered, with a shudder. "Is it true?" "Oh, yes, child, every word of it, I am sorry to say, but I oughtn't to have told you about it while you were feeling so badly. It shocked you very much, poor dear." "Yes, it shocked me very much," Irene replied, in a strange voice. "You were saying--were you not?--that one of your friends was--was--drowned," she concluded, with a faint quiver in the last word.