“But what?”

“What does it signify what! Something you can’t understand.”

“I can understand it, father; and I want to know.”

“A plea of fraud, on my part, in selling the cotton.  I suppose you would like to cultivate his acquaintance after that.”

Elizabeth sat back in her seat with a little start, and did not speak again during the conversation.  Rose looked up from her mesh-stick and poured out a flood of indignant and somewhat incoherent words; to which Mr. Haye responded briefly, as a man who was not fond of the subject, and finally put an end to them by taking the paper and walking off.  Elizabeth changed her position then for a low seat, and resting her chin on her hand sat looking into the fire with eyes in which there burned a dark glow that rivalled it.

“Lizzie,” said her companion, “did you ever hear of such a thing!”

“Not ‘such a thing,’” she answered.

“Aren’t you as provoked as you can be?”

“‘Provoked’ is not exactly the word,” Elizabeth replied.

“Well you know what to think of Winthrop Landholm now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you surprised?”

“I wish I could never be surprised again,” she answered, laying her head down for an instant on her lap; but then giving it the position it held before.

“You take it coolly!” said Rose, jerking away at her netting.

“Do I? You don’t.”

“No, and I shouldn’t think you would.  Don’t you hate those Landholms?”

“No.”

“Don’t you!  You ought.  What are you looking at in the fire?”

“Winthrop Landholm, —­ just at that minute.”

“I do believe,” said Rose indignantly, “you like Winthrop Landholm better than you do Mr. Haye!”

Elizabeth’s eyes glared at her, but though there seemed a moment’s readiness to speak, she did not speak, but presently rose up and quitted the room.  She went to her own; locked the door, and sat down.  There was a moment’s quiver of the lip and drawing of the brow, while the eyes in their fire seemed to throw off sparks from the volcano below; and then the head bent, with a cry of pain, and the flood of sorrow broke; so bitter, that she sometimes pressed both hands to her head, as if it were in danger of parting in two.  The proud forehead was stooped to the knees, and the shoulders convulsed in her agony.  And it lasted long.  Half hour and half hour passed before the struggle was over and Elizabeth had quieted herself enough to go to bed.  When at last she rose to begin the business of undressing, she startled not a little to see her handmaid Clam present herself.

“When did you come in?” said Elizabeth after a moment’s hesitation.

“When the door opened,” said Clam collectedly.

“How long ago?”

“How long have you been here, do you s’pose, Miss ’Lizabeth?”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”