“Just what I say. Schuyler Carleton admires you greatly, but he doesn’t love you—at least, not as I do!” 

“Don’t be foolish, Tom. Naturally you know nothing about Mr. Carleton’s affection for me—he does not proclaim it from the housetops. And I desire you not to speak of it again.” 

“Why should I speak of what doesn’t exist? Forgive me, Maddy, but I love you so myself, it drives me frantic to see that man treating you so coolly.” 

“He doesn’t treat me coolly. Or, if he does, it’s because I don’t wish for tender demonstrations before other people. I’m fond of you, Tom, as you know, but I won’t allow even you to criticise the man I am about to marry.”“Oh, very well, marry him, then, and a precious unhappy life you’ll lead with him,—and I know why.” Madeleine turned on him, her eyes blazing with anger. “What do you mean? Explain that last remark of yours.” “Small need! You know why as well as I do;” and Tom pushed his hands into his pockets and strode away, whistling, well knowing that he had roused his cousin’s even temper at last. 

In addition to some of her Mapleton friends, Madeleine had invited two girls from New York to be her bridesmaids. Kitty French and Molly Gardner had already come and were staying at the Van Norman house the few days that would intervene before the wedding. Knowing Madeleine well, as they did, they had not expected confidence from her, nor did they look forward to cosy, romantic boudoir chats, such as many girls would enjoy. But neither had they expected the peculiar constraint that seemed to hang over all the members of the household. 

Mrs. Markham had been so long housekeeper, and even companion, for Madeleine that she was not looked upon as a servant, and to her Kitty French put a few discreet questions regarding the exceeding reserve of Mr. Carleton. “I don’t know, Miss French,” said the good woman, looking sadly disturbed. “I love Madeleine as I would my own child. I know she adores Mr. Carleton,—and—yes, I know he greatly admires her,—and yet there is something wrong. I can’t express it—it’s merely a feeling,—an intuition, but there is something wrong.” “You know Mr. Willard is in love with Maddy,” suggested Miss French. “Oh, it isn’t that. They’ve always had a cousinly affection for each other, and,—yes, Tom is in love with her,—but what I mean is aside from all that. The real reason that Madeleine flirts with Tom—for she does flirt with him—is to pique Mr. Carleton. There! I’ve said more than I meant to, but you’re too good a friend to let it make any trouble, and, any way, in a few 

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