saw through all that clearly enough; I knew he loved me a hundred-fold
more passionately than in our earlier days; and the knowledge was to me
as a cool draught to one who is perishing of thirst. I did all in my
power to enhance his love; I sang bewildering melodies to him; I talked
to him of the things he liked, and that roused his fine intellect to
the exercise of its powers. I rode with him, danced with him; nor did I
omit to let him see the admiration with which others of his sex
regarded me. I was well aware that a man values no jewel so highly as
that which in a brilliant setting calls forth the plaudits of the
crowd. I talked to him often of his prospects and hopes; his ambition,
all selfish as it was, fascinated me by its pride and daring. "Ah,
William!" I sometimes thought, "you made a deadly mistake when you cast
me off! You will never find another who can so enter, heart and soul,
into all your brilliant projects!"

He came to me, one morning, rather earlier than his wont. I was
reading, but laid aside my book to greet him.

"What have you there, Juanita? Some young-ladyish romance, I suppose."

"Not at all,--it is a very rational work; though I presume you will
laugh at it, because it contains a little sentiment,--you are grown so
hard and cold, of late."

"Do you think so?" he asked, with a look that belied the charge.

He took up the volume, and, glancing through it, read now and then a
sentence.

"What say you to this, Juanita? 'If we are still able to love one who