“And you mean to brave that consequence?”

“In a choice of evils we always take the least.”  Edith’s voice trembled.

Mrs. Ravensworth did not reply for some moments.  While she sat silent, the half-closed door near which Edith stood, and toward which her aunt’s back was turned, softly opened, and a handsome youth, between whom and Edith glances of intelligence instantly passed, presented the startled maiden with a beautiful white rose, and then noiselessly retired.

It was nearly a minute before Mrs. Ravensworth resumed the light employment in which she was engaged, and as she did so, she said—­

“Many a foolish young girl gets her head turned with those gay gallants at our fashionable watering-places, and imagines that she has won a heart when the object of her vain regard never felt the throb of a truly unselfish and noble impulse.”

The crimson deepened on Edith’s cheeks and brow, and as she lifted her eyes, she saw herself in a large mirror opposite, with her aunt’s calm eyes steadily fixed upon her.  To turn her face partly away, so that it could no longer be reflected from the mirror, was the work of an instant.  In a few moments she said—­

“Let young and foolish girls get their heads turned if they will.  But I trust I am in no danger.”

“I am not so sure of that.  Those who think themselves most secure are generally in the greatest danger.  Who is the youth with whom you danced last evening?  I don’t remember to have seen him here before.”

“His name is Evelyn.”  There was a slight tremor in Edith’s voice.

“How came you to know him?”

“I met him here last season.”

“You did?”

“Yes, ma’am.  And I danced with him last night.  Was there any harm in that?” The maiden’s voice had regained its firmness.

“I didn’t say there was,” returned Mrs. Ravensworth, who again relapsed into silence.  Not long after, she said—­“I think we will return to London on Thursday.”

“So soon!” Edith spoke in a disappointed voice.

“Do you find it so very pleasant here?” said the aunt, a little ironically.

“I have not complained of its being dull, aunt,” replied Edith.  “But if you wish to return on Thursday, I will be ready to accompany you.”

Soon after this, Edith Hamilton left her aunt’s room, and went to one of the drawing-rooms of the hotel at which they were staying, where she sat down near a recess window that overlooked a beautiful promenade.  She had been here only a few minutes, when she was joined by a handsome youth, to whom Edith said—­

“How could you venture to the door of my aunt’s parlour?  I’m half afraid she detected your presence, for she said, immediately afterward, that we would return to London on the day after to-morrow.”

“So soon?  Well, I’ll be there next week, and it will be strange if, with your consent, we don’t meet often.”