"Like him?" said Miss Earle, with a fierce light in her eyes, as she looked at her tormentor. "Yes, I like him, and I'll tell you more than that"; she bent over and added in an intense whisper, "I love him, and if you say another word to me about him, or if you dare to discuss me with him, I shall go up to him where he stands now and accept him. I shall say to him, 'George Morris, I love you.' Now, if you doubt I shall do that, just continue in your present style of conversation."
Blanche leaned back in the steamer chair and turned a trifle pale. Then she laughed, that irritating little laugh of hers, and said, "Really, I did not think it had gone so far as that. I'll bid you good-morning."
The moment the chair was vacated, George Morris strolled up and sat down on it.
"What has that vixen been saying to you?" he asked.
"That vixen," said Miss Earle quietly, "has been telling me that you and she were discussing me this morning, and discussing the conversation that took place last night."
"It is a lie," said Morris.
"What is? What I say, or what she said, or what she says you said?"
"That we were discussing you, or discussing our
