The witchery of childhood had vanished for ever.  Even the glimmer of hope seemed paling in the almost supernatural eyes, that had grown prematurely womanly; viewing life no more through the rainbow lenses of sanguine girlhood, but henceforth as an anxious woman haunting the penetralia of sorrow, never oblivious of the fact that over her path hovered the gibing spectre of disgrace.

The unwonted recklessness of her tone and mien annoyed and surprised her guardian, and while a frown gathered on his brow he rose and stood beside her.

“Your petulant vehemence is both unbecoming and displeasing; and in future you would do well to recollect that, as a child submitted to my guidance by your mother’s desire, it is disrespectful both to her and to me to insist upon a course at variance with our judgment and wishes.”

“I am not a child.  To-day I know, I feel, I have done for ever with my old—­happy childhood; I am—­what I wish I were not, a woman.  Oh, Mr. Palma, be merciful, and send me to mother!”

He looked down into the worn face gleaming under the gas-lamps of the chandelier, into the shadowy eloquent eyes, and noting the bloodless lips drawn sharply into curves of pain, his hand fell upon her shoulder.

“Lily, because I am merciful I shall keep you here.  I am not a patient man, am unaccustomed to teasing importunity, and it would pain me to harshly bruise the white flower I have undertaken to shelter from storm and dust; therefore you must be quiet, docile, and annoy me no more with fruitless solicitations.  Your mother does not want you in Europe.”

“You will not let me go?”

“I will not.  Let this subject rest henceforth, until I renew it.”

With a faint moan, she shut her eyes and shivered; and again he took her little white cold hands.

“Little snow-statue, why will you not trust me?  Tell me what has so suddenly changed the soft white Lily-bud of yesterday into this hollow-eyed, defiant young woman?”

The temptation was powerful to unburden her heart, to demand of him the truth, with which she suspected he was at least partly acquainted; but the thought of casting so fearful an imputation upon her mother sealed her lips.  Moreover, she felt assured that her entreaties would never prevail upon him to disclose what he deemed it expedient to conceal.

He watched and understood the struggle, and a cold smile moved his handsome mouth.

“You have resolved to withhold your confidence.  Very well, I shall never again solicit it.  It is not my habit to petition for that which I have a right to command.  You merely force me to draw the reins where I preferred you should at least imagine you were unbridled.”

He dropped her hands, looked at his watch, and took up his gloves; adding, in an entirely altered and indifferent voice: 

“What have you lost to-day?”

It was with difficulty that she restrained the words: 
“My youth, my peace of mind, my hope and faith in my future.”