Mr. Dayton had sent for the old family physician, who understood Lizzie’s constitution perfectly.  He shook his head as he said, “How came she by such a cold?  Did she go to the party?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Dayton.

“And not half-dressed, I’ll warrant,” said the gruff old doctor.

Lucy turned pale as her father answered, quickly and truthfully as he thought, “No, sir, she was properly dressed.”

Lizzie heard it, and though speaking was painful, she said, “Forgive me, father, forgive me; I disobeyed you.  I wore the dress you said I must not wear!”

An exclamation of surprise escaped Mr. Dayton, who, glancing at Lucy, read in her guilty face what Lizzie generously would not betray.

“Oh, Lucy, Lucy,” said he, “how could you do so?”

Lucy could only reply through her tears.  She was sincerely sorry that by her means Lizzie had been brought into danger; but when the doctor said that by careful management she might soon be better, all feelings of regret vanished, and she again began to think of St. Leon and his promise to call.  A look at herself in the mirror showed her that she was looking pale and jaded, and she half-hoped he would not come.  However, as the day wore on she grew nervous as she thought he possibly might be spending his time with the hated Ada.  But he was not, and at about four o’clock there was a ring at the door.  From an upper window Lucy saw St. Leon, and when Bridget came up for her, she asked if the parlor was well darkened.

“An’ sure it’s darker nor a pocket,” said Bridget, “an’ he couldn’t see a haporth was ye twice as sorry lookin’.”

So bathing her face in cologne, in order to force a glow, Lucy descended to the parlor, which she found to be as dark as Bridget had said it was.  St. Leon received her very kindly, for the devotion she had the night before shown for her sister had partially counterbalanced the spitefulness he had observed in her manner when speaking of Ada at the party.  Notwithstanding Bridget’s precautions, he saw, too, that she was pale and spiritless, but he attributed it to her anxiety for her sister, and this raised her in his estimation.  Lucy divined his thoughts, and in her efforts to appear amiable and agreeable, a half-hour passed quickly away.  At the end of that time she unfortunately asked, in a very sneering tone, “how long since he had seen the sewing girl?”

“If you mean Miss Harcourt,” said St. Leon coolly, “I’ve not seen her since I left her last night at her mother’s door.”

“You must have been in danger of upsetting if you attempted to turn round in Mrs. Harcourt’s spacious yard,” was Lucy’s next remark.

“I did not attempt it,” said St. Leon.  “I carried Miss Ada in my arms from the street to the door.”

The tone and manner were changed.  Lucy knew it, and it exasperated her to say something more, but she was prevented by St. Leon’s rising to go.  As Lucy accompanied him to the door she asked how long he intended to remain in S——.