abruptly down upon the table and turned away.

“Well,” queried Leonard, with a ring of impatience in his voice, “is it Will Venners’ work, Miss Glyndon? Do you identify the writing?”

Her heart was beating eighteen to the dozen, and she felt a strange, cold sensation creeping over her; but with a wonderful effort she controlled her agitation, and the voice which made answer did not even tremble as she replied:

“Yes, it is Will—Captain Venners’—handwriting, Mr. Yorke; I know it.”

Leonard pushed back the empty coffee-cup from beside his plate.

“Then, by Heaven!—I beg your pardon, Miss Glyndon—what does he mean by writing such stuff to Violet—Miss Arleigh? I may as well tell you now as later that I fully expected to make her my wife!”

“He would not have dared to write poems to her if she did not encourage him!” cried Jessie, indignantly, with all a woman’s bitter judgment of her sister-woman whom she believes to have come between herself and happiness. “Of course Miss Arleigh was willing, or Will Venners would never have spent all the time necessary to write a poem—a lengthy one like that—to bestow upon her. You know how indolent he is. A man with great natural ability and talent, he requires an incentive—some deep motive to interest and urge him on. He must certainly have[Pg 69] cared for, and believed that he had a right to care for, the woman for whom these lines were written!”

[Pg 69]

Ah, Jessie! quick-tempered, swift to judge, sensitive to a fault, you have spoken truly! The pretty lines were written for the woman whom Will Venners loved, but not for Violet Arleigh.

It was a sad mistake all around, as complete a game of cross-purposes as one would wish to see.

Miss Glyndon returned Will Venners’ unfortunate poem to Leonard Yorke, then with her head very erect and a round red spot burning like a flame upon each pale cheek, she left the breakfast-room and slowly ascended the great circular stair-case which led from the immense entrance hall up to regions above. A few moments later she opened the door of a pretty sleeping-room all in pale pink and white—her own sanctum—for here at Yorke Towers the hired companion was as well lodged and as kindly treated as an honored guest.

Miss Glyndon locked the door behind her, then she went 

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