courts would annul it—any one could see the difference between us—”
Here was my moment, and I didn’t spare it, but jabbed the needle into the ball of yarn, if her ear did lie between them.
“Yes!” says I, “anybody with half an eye can see the difference between you, and that’s a fact! Nobody’d ever imagine for a breath that you were deserving of Dan,—Dan, who’s so noble he’d die for what he thought was right; you, who are so selfish and idle and fickle and—”
And at that Faith burst out crying.
“O, I never expected you’d talk about me so, Georgie!” said she between her sobs. “How could I tell you were such a mighty friend of Dan’s? And besides, if ever I was Virginie des Violets, I’m Faith Devereux now, and Dan’ll resent anyone speaking so about his wife!”
And she stood up, the tears sparkling like diamonds in her flashing dark eyes, her cheeks red, and her little fist clenched.
“That’s the right spirit, Faith,” says I, “and I’m glad to see you show it. And as for this young Canadian, the best thing to do with him is to send him packing. I don’t believe a word he says; it’s more than likely nothing but to get into your good graces.”
“But there’s the names,” said she, so astonished that she didn’t remember she was angry.
“Happened so.”
“O, yes! ‘Happened so’! A likely story! It’s nothing but your envy, and that’s all!”
“Faith!” says I, for I forgot she didn’t know how close she struck.
“Well,—I mean—There, don’t let’s talk about it anymore! How under the sun am I going to get these ends tied?”
“Come here. There! Now for the other one.”
“No, I sha’n’t let you do that; you hurt me dreadfully, and you got angry, and took the big needle.”
“I thought you expected to be hurt.”
“I didn’t expect to be stabbed.”
“Well, just as you please. I suppose you’ll go round with one ear-ring.”
“Like a little pig with his ear cropped? No, I shall do it myself. See there, Georgie!” And she threw a bit of a box into my hands.
I opened it, and there lay inside, on their velvet cushion, a pair of the prettiest things you ever saw,—a tiny bunch of white grapes, and every grape a round pearl, and all hung so that they would tinkle together on their golden stems every time Faith shook her head,—and she had a cunning little way of shaking it often enough.
“These must have cost a penny, Faith,” said I. “Where’d you get them?”
“Mr. Gabriel gave them to me just now. He went up town and bought them. And I don’t want him to know that my ears weren’t bored.”"Mr. Gabriel? And you took them?"
"Of course I took them, and mighty glad to get them."
"Faith dear," said I, "don't you know that you shouldn't accept presents from gentlemen, and especially now you're a married woman, and especially from those of higher station?"
"But he isn't higher."
"You know what I mean. And then, too, he 

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