“You give my daughter music lessons?” demanded Captain Howard.

“Oui, monsieur, I do that same thing,” answered Penoyer.

“Oh, Carrie, Carrie,” said Captain Howard, in his surprise forgetting the time and place, “why did you tell me that your knowledge of music you acquired yourself, with the assistance of your cousin, and a little help from her music teacher; and why, when this man was here a few months ago, did you not tell me he was your music teacher and had not been paid?”

Bursting into tears Carrie answered, “Forgive me, father, but he said he had no bill against me; he made no charge.”

“But she gave me von big, large mitten,” said the Frenchman, “when she see this man, who has more l’argent; but no difference, no difference, sar, this gentleman,” bowing toward Ashmore, “parfaitement delighted to pay it.”

Whether he were delighted or not, he did pay it, for drawing from his pocket his purse, while his large black eyes emitted gleams of fire, he counted out the required amount, one hundred and twenty-five dollars; then confronting Penoyer, he said fiercely, “Give me a receipt for this instantly, after which I will take it upon me to show you the door.”

“Certainement, certainement, all I want is my l’argent,” said Penoyer.

The money was paid, the receipt given, and then, as Penoyer hesitated a moment, Ashmore said, “Are you waiting to be helped out, sir?”

“No, monsieur, si vous plait, I have tree letters from madam, which will give you one grande satisfaction to read.”  Then tossing toward Ashmore the letters, with a malicious smile he left the house.

Poor Carrie!  When sure that he was gone she fainted away and was carried from the room.  At supper, however, she made her appearance, and after that was over the guests, unopposed, left en masse.

What effect Penoyer’s disclosures had on Ashmore we never exactly knew, but when, a few days before the young couple left home, they called at our house, we all fancied that Carrie was looking more thoughtful than usual, while a cloud seemed to be resting on Ashmore’s brow.  The week following their marriage they left for New York, where they were going to reside.  During the winter Carrie wrote home frequently, giving accounts of the many gay and fashionable parties which she attended, and once in a letter to Anna she wrote, “The flattering attentions which I receive have more than, once made Ashmore jealous.”

Two years from the time they were married Mrs. Ashmore was brought back to her home a pale, faded invalid, worn out by constant dissipation and the care of a sickly baby, so poor and blue that even I couldn’t bear to touch it.  Three days after their arrival Mr. Evelyn brought to us his bride, Cousin Emma, blooming with health and beauty.  I could scarcely believe that the exceedingly beautiful Mrs. Evelyn was the same white-faced girl who, two years before, had sat with me beneath the old grapevine.