Then she drew back abruptly into the shadow of some tall palms. She caught the sound of voices of persons coming in. Ada was bringing her visitor to see the flowers. Even now Eva might have escaped by another door, but she stood spellbound, unable to move, held by the tones of the voice she loved so well. “Oh, why cannot I hate him?” she thought desperately. “I used to despise him heartily enough in the old days at home, when we met and passed as strangers!” But she could not go; she stood still, and consoled herself with the thought that it was only politeness. She ought really to thank him for his kindness the other day. The other two came slowly along, stopping to smell the flowers and exclaim at their beauty. “How fortunate Eva is. She has everything that heart can wish,” said Miss Winton. “She deserves it all!” Doctor Ludington replied gently, and Eva’s heart thrilled with joy. Then Ada broke a rosebud and fastened it in his buttonhole. Eva, peering through the leaves, saw the fair, handsome head bent over Ada, and the smile on the lips as he thanked her for the gift. She remembered that when she had used to pin flowers on his coat he had always taken her in his arms and kissed her lips. Would he reward Ada in the same fashion? If he did she could not bear it. She felt as if she should fall down upon the floor and cry out to Heaven to let her die--life was too cruel to be borne any longer. When she saw them move apart again she gave a great bursting sigh of relief that what she feared and dreaded had not happened. They came on toward her, and she knew that she must make her presence known. To remain silent any longer would seem like eavesdropping. She put her golden head and white hand out from among the leaves with a secret prayer to Heaven for calmness, and said gayly: “How you startled me, you two, when I thought myself alone among the flowers; but I am glad to see you, Doctor Ludington, and to have an opportunity to thank you for your kindness to me the day of the accident!” She was actually holding out her white jeweled hand to him with simple courtesy as to an everyday acquaintance, and her clear, cool society tone had in it not one throb of her wildly beating heart. So much for her social culture in the world. “She has indeed grown heartless!” Doctor Ludington said to himself, with a sort of contempt for her coolness, though to match it he took and pressed the offered hand in one that was as icy cold as hers was hot and burning, while he said carelessly: “Indeed you owe me no special thanks, Miss Somerville. I would have done the same thing as readily for any one else.” “Perhaps even more readily!” Eva retorted, forgetting her pride in angry pique. “Well, I cannot blame you, but, all the same, I am very grateful.” He bowed with cold, grave, blue eyes fixed on her face, and she added nervously: “Do you like flowers? Pray, take all you want.”