“Do not speak to me of her,” he said impatiently. “Who could love her after the meanness and injustice of her conduct to you?” He imprisoned both her little hands in his, as he continued ardently: “Pansy, do you love me, my little darling?” A bashful glance from the sweet blue eyes answered his question, and, stooping down, he was about to press a kiss on her beautiful lips when a stealthy footstep came up behind them, and an angry voice exclaimed: “Really, Mr. Wylde, when you want to flirt with factory girls you should not choose such a public place, especially when the girl you are engaged to is close at hand.” He started backward as if shot, and Pansy sprang from the hammock with a shriek: “It is false!” Juliette Ives laughed scornfully, and replied: “Ask him. He will not deny it.” Pretty Pansy, with a face that had grown white as a lily, turned to Norman Wylde. “Is it true? Are you engaged to her?” she demanded sharply. “Yes, but----” “That is enough!” interrupted Pansy, with flashing eyes. She would not let him finish his sentence, so keen was her resentment at his trifling, as she deemed it; and, looking scornfully at him, she said: “Never presume to speak to me again, sir!” Then she walked rapidly from the spot, and Norman Wylde and Juliette Ives stood looking at each other with angry eyes. “Are you not ashamed of yourself?” she cried indignantly. “Eavesdropper!” he retorted passionately, forgetting his gentlemanliness in his resentment at her conduct. “Traitor!” she retorted defiantly, then burst out fiercely: “Call me what names you will, I have borne your trifling until I could bear no more. If you wanted to flirt, why couldn’t you have chosen some one in your own station in life, instead of that miserable tobacco-factory girl?” He had folded his arms across his chest, and was listening with a sneer to her angry speech. When she paused he answered, in a low yet distinct voice: “I beg your pardon. It was not flirting, but earnest.” A sharp remonstrance sprang to her lips, but, without taking any note of it, he continued coldly: “I had a fancy for you once, Juliette, but it perished when I saw how mean and base you could be to a less fortunate sister woman. I have watched you and your clique, Juliette, and I have been ashamed of you all--ashamed and indignant, and my heart turned away from you to that sweet persecuted girl with a deeper tenderness than it ever felt before. I made up my mind to snap the bonds that held me as your slave, and to win her for my own. But I acted prematurely in declaring my love for her first. You drove me to it with your unwomanly conduct of a little while ago, else I had not been so hasty.” She stood staring at him with angry incredulity, wondering if he spoke the truth, if he really meant to throw her over for the sake of a girl he had barely known a month. “What if I refuse to give you your freedom?” she asked harshly.’