"Asking me for confidence and sympathy," said Miss Spencer. "She has been disinherited by her father. My cousin told me the story, and she tells it in her own way, in the letter. It is like an old romance. Her father opposed the marriage, and when he discovered that she had secretly disobeyed him he cruelly cast her off. It is really most romantic. They are the oldest family in Provence."
I looked and listened in wonder. It really seemed that the poor woman was enjoying the "romance" of having a discarded countess-cousin, out of Provence, so deeply as almost to lose the sense of what the forfeiture of her money meant for her.
"My dear young lady," I said, "you don't want to be ruined for picturesqueness' sake?"
"I shall not be ruined. I shall come back before long to stay with them. The Countess insists upon that."
"Come back! You are going home, then?"
She sat for a moment with her eyes lowered, then with an heroic suppression of a faint tremor of the voice,—"I have no money for travelling!" she answered.
"You gave it all up?"
"I have kept enough to take me home."
I gave an angry groan; and at this juncture Miss Spencer's cousin, the fortunate possessor of her sacred savings and of the hand of the Provencal countess, emerged from the little dining-room. He stood on the threshold for an instant, removing the stone
