As the Colonel was a man that stuck to a topic when he got upon it, this was the main of his talk all the way to Clifford Hall.  He even remarked to his niece that, so far as his observations of the sex extended, great love of justice was not the leading feature of the female mind; other virtues he ventured to think were more prominent.

“So everybody says,” was Julia’s admission.

“Everybody is right for once,” said the Colonel.

They entered the house together, and Miss Clifford went up to her room; there she put on a new bonnet and a lovely shawl, recently imported from Paris.  Who could this be for?  She sauntered upon the lawn till she found herself somehow near the outward boundary, where there was a gate leading into the Park.  As she walked to and fro by this gate she observed, out of the tail of her eye of course, the figure of a devoted lover creeping toward her.  Whether this took her by surprise, or whether the lovely creature was playing the part of a beautiful striped spider waiting for her fly, the reader must judge for himself.

Percy came to the gate; she walked past him twice, coming and going with her eyes fixed upon vacancy.  She passed him a third time.  He murmured in a pleading voice,

“Julia!”

She neither saw nor heard, so attractive had the distant horizon become.

Percy opened the gate and came inside, and stood before her the next time she passed.  She started with surprise.

“What do you want here?” said she.

“To speak to you.”

“How dare you speak to me after your vile suspicions?”

“Well, but, Julia—­”

“How dare you call me Julia?”

“Well, Miss Clifford, won’t you even hear me?”

“Not a word.  It’s through you poor dear Mary and I have both been insulted by that wretch of a father of hers.”

“Which father?”

“I said wretch.  To whom does that term apply except to Mr. Bartley, and” (with sudden vigor) “to you.”

“Then you think I am as bad as old Bartley,” said Percy, firing up.

“No, I don’t.”

“Ah,” said Percy, glad to find there was a limit.

But Julia explained:  “I think you are a great deal worse.  You pretend to love me, and yet without the slightest reason you doubt me.”

“What did I doubt?  I thought you had parted with my bracelet to another person, and so you had.  I never doubted your honor.”

“Oh yes, you did; I saw your face.”

“I am not r—­r—­responsible for my face.”

“Yes, you are; you had no business to look broken-hearted, and miserable, and distrustful, and abominable.  It was your business, face and all, to distrust appearances, and not me.”

“Ap—­pear—­ances were so strong that not to look m—­miserable would have been to seem indifferent; there is no love where there is no jealousy.”

“Oh,” said Julia, “he has let that out at last, after denying it a hundred times.  Now I say there is no true love without respect and confidence, and this doesn’t exist where there is jealousy, and all about a trumpery bracelet.”