These were the words, doubtful and suggestive, which made every heart in Seat-Sandal thoroughly uncomfortable.  And yet Charlotte stoutly said, “I would not mind Sophia’s insinuations, father and mother.  She is angry at Harry.  Harry has as much right in Florence as Sophia has.  He told us he was going there.  He has written to us frequently.  Suppose he was with a beautiful girl:  is Julius the only young man entitled to such a privilege?  Sophia is happy in her own way, and we do not envy nor interfere with her happiness; but why should we permit her to make us unhappy?  Throw the letter out of your memories, dear father and mother.  It is only a piece of ill-nature.  Perhaps Julius had been cross with her; and if Sophia has a grievance, she never rests until she passes it on to some one.”

Women still hold the divining-cup, and Charlotte was not far wrong in her supposition.  In spite of their twinship of soul, and in spite of that habit of loving which was involved in their belief “that they had been husband and wife in many a previous existence,” Mr. and Mrs. Julius Sandal disagreed as conventionally as the ordinary husband and wife of one existence.  The day on which the Florence letter was written had been a very unhappy one for Sophia.  Julius had quarrelled with her about some very trivial affair, and had gone out in a temper disgracefully at variance with the occasion for it; and Sophia had sat all day nursing her wrath in her darkened room.  She did not dress for the evening drive, for she had determined to “keep up” her anger until Julius made her some atonement.

But when he came home, she could not resist his air of confidence and satisfaction.  He had quite forgotten the affair at the breakfast-table, and was only eager for her help and sympathy.  “I have seen Harry,” he said.

“Very well.  You came here to find him.  I suppose I can see him also.  I am sure I need to see some one.  I have been neglected all day; suffering, lonely,”—­

“Sophia, you and I are here to look after our own affairs a little.  If you are willing to help me, I shall be glad; if not”—­

“You know I will help you in any thing I can, Julius.”

Then he kissed her, and she cried a little, and he kissed her again; and she dressed herself, and they went for a drive, and during it met Harry, and brought him back to dine with them.  Julius was particularly pleasant to the unsuspicious soldier.  He soon perceived that he was thoroughly disgusted with the rigor and routine of military life, and longing to free himself from its thraldom; and he encouraged him in the idea.

“I wonder how you stand it, Harry,” he said sympathetically.

“You see, Julius, when I went into the army, I was so weary of Sandal-Side; and I liked the uniform, and the stir of an officer’s life, and the admiration of the girls, and the whole eclat of the thing.  But when a man’s time comes, and he falls so deeply in love that he cares for nothing on earth but one woman, then he hates whatever comes between himself and that woman.”