“Edith,” Richard replied, “I do not wish to explain to you now.  By and by I’ll tell you, it may be, though even that will depend on circumstances;” and he sighed as he thought what the circumstances must be which would keep from Edith any further knowledge of Eloise than she already possessed.

Edith did not hear the sigh.  She only knew that it was useless to question him, and beating her little foot impatiently, she muttered, “More mystery.  If there’s any thing I hate it’s mystery.—­”

She did not finish what she meant to say, for at that moment she spied Arthur and Nina coming through the garden gate as the nearest route.

Edith was not in the best of humors.  She was vexed at Richard, because he wouldn’t tell and at Arthur for “acting so,” as she termed it,—­this acting so implying the studied indifference with which he had treated her of late.  But she was not vexed with Nina, and running out to meet her, she laid her arm across her neck, and led her with many words of welcome to the stool she had just vacated, saying laughingly:  “I know Mr. Harrington would rather you should sit here than a cross patch like me!  I’m ill-natured to-night, Mr. St. Claire,” and she bit her words off with playful spitefulness.

“Your face cannot be an index to your feelings, then,” returned Arthur, retaining her offered hand a moment, and looking into her eyes, just to see if he could do it without flinching.

It was a dangerous experiment, for Edith’s soul looked through her eyes, and Arthur read therein that which sent feverish heats and icy chills alternately through his veins.  Releasing her hand he sat down upon the upper step of the piazza, and leaning against one of the pillars, began to pluck the leaves within his reach, and mechanically tear them in pieces.

Meantime Richard had signified to Edith his wish that she should bring another stool, and sit beside him just as Nina was doing.

“I can then rest my hands upon the heads of you both,” he said, smoothing the while Nina’s golden curls,

“Now tell us a story, please,” said Nina; and when Richard asked what it should be, she replied,

“Oh, tell us about the years ago when you were over the sea, and why you have never married.  Maybe you have, though.  You are old enough, I reckon.  Did you ever marry anybody?”

“Yes, I did,” returned Richard; “a little girl with hair like yours, I think, though my eyesight then was almost gone, and I saw nothing distinctly.”

“Wha-a-at!” exclaimed Edith, at the same time asking Arthur if he was hurt as he started suddenly,

“There it goes.  It was a bee, I guess;” and Nina pointed to an insect flitting by, but so far from Arthur as to render a sting from the diminutive creature impossible.  Still it served as an excuse, and blessing Nina in his heart for the suggestion, Arthur talked rapidly of various matters, hoping in this way to change the conversation.  But Edith was not to be put off, even if Nina were.  She was too much interested to know what Richard meant, and as soon as politeness would permit, she said to him,