bread or soap, it doesn't matter, so they sell enough of it. Well, young man, what about your escapade in the Park? Shall I tell your aunt?"

"You said you intended to,—do as you like."

"I won't tell her, if——"

"Oh, you'd better tell me—what is it?"

The cool, incisive tones of Miss Prall interrupted the speakers and Richard's aunt calmly gazed at him and then at Miss Gurney, as she came into the room, seated herself, and began drawing off her gloves.

"I'll tell you myself, Aunt Letitia," said Bates. "I'm old enough not to be bossed and ballyragged by you two women! Forgive me, Aunt Letty, but, truly, Eliza makes me so mad——"

"Go out, Eliza," said Miss Prall, and Eliza went.

"Now, Ricky boy, what is it? About Sir Herbert of course. And I'll stand by you,—if you don't want to go into his business, you shan't——"

"It isn't that at all, Aunt Letitia. Or, at least, that is in the air, too,—up in the air, in fact,—but what Eliza is going to tell you,—and I prefer to tell you myself,—is that I'm in love with——"

"Oh, Richard, I am so glad! You dear boy. I've felt for a long time that if you were interested in one girl—some sweet young girl,—you'd have a sort of anchor and——"

"Yes, but wait a minute,—you don't know who she is."

"And I don't care! I mean, I know you'd love only a dear, innocent nature,—but tell me all about her."

Miss Prall's plain face was lighted with happy smiles of interest and eager anticipation, and she drew her chair nearer her nephew as she waited for him to speak.

Bates looked at her, dreading to shatter her hopes,—as he knew his next words must do.

"Well, to begin with,—she is Dorcas Everett."

Miss Prall's eyes opened in a wide, unbelieving stare, her face paled slowly, her very lips seemed to grow white, so intense and concentrated was her anger.

"No!" she said, at last, in a low tense voice, "you don't mean that. Richard! you can't mean it,—after all I've done for you, after all I've hoped for you,—and,—I've loved you so——"

"Now, auntie, listen; just you forget and forgive all this old feud business,—for my sake,—and Dorcas'; be noble, rise above your old, petty quarrel with Mrs Everett, and give us your bond of peace as a wedding present."

His pleading tones, his hopeful smile held Miss Prall's attention for a moment, and then she blazed forth:

"Richard Bates, I cannot believe it. Ingrate! Snake in the grass! To deceive me,—to carry on an affair like this, for you must have done so,—under my very nose, and keep it all so sly! Dorcas Everett! daughter of my enemy,—my long time foe,—the most despicable woman in the world! And, knowing all about it, you deliberately cultivate the acquaintance of her daughter and secretly go on to the point of wanting to marry her! I can't believe it! It's too monstrous! Were there no other girls in the world,—in your life,—that you must choose that one? You can't have been so diabolical as to have done it purposely to break my heart!"

"Oh, no, Auntie, I didn't do that! I chanced to meet Dorcas,—one day at Janet Fayre's,—and, somehow, we both fell in love at once!"

"Stop! don't tell me another word! Get out, Eliza!" as Miss Gurney reappeared at the door. "I told you to get out! Now, stay out! Get away from me, Richard; you can't help any by trying to fawn around me! You don't know what you've done,—I grant you that! You don't know—you can't know,—how you've crucified me!"

Springing up from her chair, Miss Prall darted from the room, and out into the hall. Down one flight of stairs she ran, and furiously pealed the bell of Mrs Everett's apartment on the floor below.

The maid who opened the door was startled at the visitor's appearance, but the angry caller asked for no one; she pushed her way past the servant, and faced Mrs Everett in her own reception room.

"Do you know what's going on, Adeline Everett? Do you know that your daughter is—is interested in my nephew? Answer me that!"

"I don't know it, and I don't believe it," returned Mrs Everett, a plump, blonde matron, whose touched-up golden hair was allowed to show no gray, and whose faintly pink cheeks were solicitously cared for.

"Ask her!" quivered Letitia Prall's angry voice, and she clenched her long thin fingers in ill-controlled rage.

"I will; she's in the next room. Come in here, Dorcas. Tell Miss Prall she is mistaken,—presumptuously mistaken."

The haughty stare with which the hostess regarded her guest continued until Dorcas, coming in, said, with a pretty blush and smile, "I'm afraid she isn't mistaken, Mother."

"Just what do you mean?" Mrs Everett asked, icily, transferring her gaze to her daughter.

Very sweet and appealing Dorcas looked as she realized the crucial moment had arrived. Now she must take her stand for all time. Her big, dark eyes turned from one furious face to the other as the two women waited her response. Her face paled a little as she saw their attitude, their implacable wrath, their hatred of each other, and their momentarily suspended judgment of herself. Yet she stood her ground. With a pretty dignity, she spoke quietly and in a calm, steady voice:

"I heard what Miss Prall said," she began, "I couldn't help it, as I was so near, and all I can say is, that it is true. I am not only interested in Richard Bates, but I love him. He loves me,—and we hope—oh, mumsie,—be kind!—we hope you two will make up your quarrel for our sakes!"

"Go to your room, Dorcas," her mother said, and in those words the girl read her doom. She knew her mother well, and she saw beyond all shadow of doubt that there was no leniency to be hoped for. She sensed in her mother's expression as she pronounced the short sentence, an absolute and immutable decision. She might as well plead for the moon, as for her mother's permission to be interested in Letitia Prall's nephew.

"Wait a minute," countermanded Miss Prall. "Answer me this, Dorcas. Are you and my nephew engaged? Has it come to that?"

"Yes," the girl answered, thinking quickly, and deciding it best to force the issue.

"Hush!" commanded her mother; "go to your room!"

Mrs Everett fairly pushed her daughter through the door, closed it, and then said: "There is little need of further remark on this subject. We might have known it would come,—at least we might have feared it. One of us must leave this house. Will you go or shall I?"

"You take no thought of the young people's heart-break?"

"I do not! Dorcas will get over it; I don't care whether your nephew does or not. I can take care of my child, and that's all that interests me."

"You think you can,—but perhaps you do not know the depth of their attachment or the strength of their wills."

"It is not for you, an unmarried woman, to instruct me in the ways of young lovers! I repeat, Letitia Prall, I can take care of my daughter. Her welfare in no way concerns you. I am only thankful we discovered this state of things before it is too late. Good Heavens! You don't suppose it is too late, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't suppose those young idiots are—married!"

"Of course not! My Richard is above such clandestine ways!"

"Your Richard isn't above anything! My Dorcas is, but—he might have persuaded her—oh, well, I'll attend to Dorcas. There is no need for you to tarry longer."

The exaggerated courtesy of her manner goaded Miss Prall to rudeness.

"I shall stay as long as I like," she returned, stubbornly sitting still. "There is more to be said, Adeline Everett. There is more to be done. I want your assurance that you will move away,—it doesn't suit my plans to leave this house,—and that you will take your forward and designing daughter far enough to keep her from maneuvering to ensnare my nephew."

"I shall be only too glad to take my daughter away from the vicinity of your crack-brained charge! What has