developed into a passion.  Again, that astute young lady had very accurately conjectured his state of mind, while her pledge of secrecy disposed of the difficulty in the way of a too rapid transfer of his attentions.  If Claudia did not complain, nay, counseled such action, who had a right to object?  It was true she had eagerly disclaimed any intention of inciting him to try to break the ties that now bound Miss Bernard.  But, he reflected, the important point was not the view she took of the morality of such an attempt, on which her authority was nought, but her opinion of its chances of success, which was obviously not wholly unfavorable.  He did not trouble himself to inquire closely into any personal motive she may have had.  It was enough for him that she, a person likely to be well informed, had allowed him to see that, to her thinking, the relations between the engaged pair were of a character to inspire in the mind of another aspirant hope rather than despair.

Having reached this conclusion, Haddington recognized that his first step must be to put Miss Bernard in touch with the position of affairs.  It may seem a delicate matter to hint to your host’s fiancee that if she, on mature reflection, likes you better than him, there is still time; but Haddington was not afflicted with delicacy.  After all, in such a case a great deal depends upon the lady, and Haddington, though doubtful how Kate would regard a direct proposal to break off her engagement, was yet tolerably confident that she would not betray him to Eugene.

He found her seated on the terrace that was the usual haunt of the ladies in the forenoon and the scene of Eugene’s dutiful labors as reader-aloud.  Kate was not looking amiable; and scarce six feet from her there lay open on the ground a copy of the Laureate’s works.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Miss Bernard?”

“Oh, no.  You see, I am alone.  Mr. Lane was here just now, but he’s gone.”

“How’s that?” asked Haddington, seating himself.

“He got a telegram, read it, flung his book away, and rushed off.”

“Did he say what it was about?”

“No; I didn’t ask him.”

A pause ensued.  It was a little difficult to make a start.

“And so you are alone?”

“Yes, as you see.”

“I am alone too.  Shall we console one another?”

“I don’t want consolation, thanks,” said Kate, a little ungraciously.  “But,” she added more kindly, “you know I’m always glad of your company.”

“I wish I could think so.”

“Why don’t you think so?”

“Well, Miss Bernard, engaged people are generally rather indifferent to the rest of the world.

“Even to telegrams?”

“Ah! poor Lane!”

“I don’t think Mr. Lane is in much need of pity.”

“No—­rather of envy.”

Kate did not look displeased.

“Still, a man is to be pitied if he does not appreciate—­”