But Jessie went on, eagerly: “When I consent to forgive him for this I shall scold him roundly, you may be sure, Leola, and I shall pretend to him that after that little fainting fit you came around all right, and despised him for his duplicity, and vowed you would never see him again. He shall not think, the vain creature, that you wore the willow an hour for his sake. I will pretend you had other lovers to take his place. That will be true, for there is Mr. Bennett, who adores you, although you have flouted him so badly. As for me, if I were in your place I’d marry Bennett out of hand, to show Chester Olyphant how little I cared about him! That would take the conceit out of him quicker than anything you could do!” So she twittered on artfully until Leola’s lovely face grew crimson with shame at her own weakness in caring so much for one so unworthy. Without saying one word, her somber eyes turned to the setting sun; she writhed with secret shame that Jessie could think she cared so much for her frivolous lover. Oh, if she could only tear this pain from her heart; only smile again as before this cruel blow that had nearly struck her dead with its agony. As Jessie chattered on, she began to feel a passionate contempt for the man as the pretty blonde depicted him, shallow, vain, unscrupulous. “Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a mouldering string: I am shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing!” With sudden angry passion, her dark eyes flashing, she turned upon the artful girl: “Please speak no more to me on that subject, Jessie. You weary me. I despise the man. I wish never to hear his name again!” she cried, bitterly, and her weakness seemed to fall from her, in passionate contempt. “Poor Leola, I cannot blame you,” cried the triumphant blonde, cheerfully, just as the door opened again, and Wizard Hermann glided softly into the room. “Ah, Leola, you are better. I am very glad,” he said, in a smooth, oily voice, taking the chair Jessie vacated, saying she must go to mamma. She nodded, wearily, without speaking, wishing they would all leave her alone, for every human face seemed hateful to her now. She would not meet his eyes, or she would have seen that he looked ill and nervous, too, and that his always furtive, unpleasant manner had grown more marked and repellent still. “Miss Tuttle,” he added, “you may leave the room. I have private affairs to talk of with my ward.” When they were quite alone he turned back to her, saying, earnestly: “I have come, Leola, to explain my private affairs to you, and to make one more appeal to you to help me out of my trouble.” She listened without replying, the deep somber eyes fixed on the fading sunset beyond the distant hills, and Wizard Hermann continued: