“But Alice bore it much longer.  Be advised; Mrs. Sandford wants to prepare the way for you.”

“I thank you; but I don’t mean to have any stratagem acted for my benefit.  I will trust the decision to her:  if she loves me, all will be well; if her just resentment has uprooted her love, the sooner I know it the better.”

While they were engaged in this mutual expostulation, Alice, all-unconscious of the impending situation in the drama, was busy in her own room,—­for Mrs. Sandford had not yet decided how to break the news to her,—­and having an errand that led her to the street, she put on her cloak and hat and tripped lightly down-stairs.  Naturally she went into the drawing-room, to make sure, by the mirror, that her ribbons were neatly adjusted.  As she entered, fastening her cloak, and humming some simple air meanwhile, she started back at the sight of strangers, and was rapidly retreating, when a voice that she had not forgotten exclaimed, “Great Heavens, there she is now!  Alice!  Alice! stop!  I beg of you!”

Greenleaf at the same time bounded to the door, and, seizing her hand, drew her, bewildered, faint, and fluttering, back into the room.

He turned almost fiercely to his companion:—­

“This is your policy, is it, to send her off?—­or, more probably, to amuse me and not send for her at all?”

“Ask the lady,—­ask Mrs. Sandford,” replied Easelmann.  “I have not sent her off; and you ought to know by this time that I am incapable of playing false to any man.”

Alice, erect, but very pale, maintained her composure as well as she could, though the timid lips trembled a little, and blinding clouds rose before her eyes.  She withdrew her hand from Greenleaf’s grasp, and asked the meaning of this unusual conduct.  Greenleaf’s good sense came to the rescue seasonably.

“Alice,—­Miss Lee,—­allow me to introduce my friend Mr. Easelmann.  We came here to see you, and were waiting for that purpose; but it seems you were not told of it.”

Easelmann bowed, saying, “No, Miss Lee; I saw Mrs. Sandford, who thought it best to speak to you first herself.”

“I am happy to meet you, Mr. Easelmann,” said Alice.  “I was just going out, however, as you see, and I must ask you to excuse me this morning.”

Greenleaf saw with a pang how silently, but effectually, he was disposed of; a downright rebuff would not have been so humiliating.  But he was not to be deterred from his purpose, and he went on: 

“Pardon me, if I seem to overstep the bounds of courtesy; but I cannot let you go in this way, Alice,—­for so I must call you.  Stay and hear me.  Now that I see you, I must speak.  God only knows with what anxiety I have sought you for the last month.”

She tried to answer, but could not command her speech.  Seeing her increasing agitation, Easelmann led her to a seat, and then, in a gentler tone than he often used, said,—­