“Well, my child; just tell me what it is for.”

“It is for Mr. Little; for his lessons.”

“Well, but L50!”

“He has given me a good many.  And to tell you the truth, papa, I dismissed him rather unceremoniously; and now I should be glad to soften the blow a little, if I can.  Do be very good and obedient, dear papa, and write what I shall dictate.  Please.”

“Well, spoiled child:  who can resist you?”

Then Grace dictated, and Mr. Carden wrote: 

“Dear sir,—­My daughter informs me that, as yet, you have received no remuneration for the lessons you have given her.  I beg your acceptance of the inclosed check, and, at the same time, should be glad if you would put a price on the admirable bust you have executed of her.

“Yours obediently,

“Walter Carden.”

The reply to this letter surprised Mr. Carden, so that he brought it to
Grace, and showed it her.

“Dear sir,—­The lessons are not worth speaking of.  I have learned more in your house than I taught.  I beg to return the check with thanks.  Price of the bust, five hundred guineas.

“Yours obediently,

“Henry little.”

Grace colored up, and her eyes sparkled.  “That young man wants humbling.”

“I don’t see that, really.  He is very civil, and I presume this five hundred guineas is just a polite way of saying that he means to keep it.  Wants it for an advertisement, eh?”

Grace smiled and bit her lip.  “Oh, what a man of business you are!” And a little while after the tears came into her eyes.  “Madman!” said she to herself.  “He won’t let me be his friend.  Well, I can’t help it.”

After the brief excitement of this correspondence, Little soon relapsed into dull misery.  His mother was alarmed, and could restrain herself no longer.  She implored his confidence.  “Make me the partner of your grief, dear,” she said; “not that you can tell me anything I have not guessed already; but, dearest, it will do you good to open your heart; and, who knows, I may assist you.  I know my sex much better than you do.”

Henry kissed her sadly, and said it was too late now.  “It is all over.  She is going to marry another man.”

“Has she told you so?”

“Not in words; but I have seen it.  She has burned it into my heart.”

“I wish I knew her,” said Mrs. Little, very earnestly, and almost in a whisper.

“Some day, mother, some day; but not now.  Oh, the tortures one heart can suffer, and yet not break.”

Mrs. Little sighed.  “What, not even tell me her name?”

“I can’t, I can’t.  Oh, mother, you mean well, but you will drive me mad.”

Mrs. Little forebore to press him further just then.  She sat silent at her work, and he at his, till they were aroused by a fly drawing up at the door.