Miss Wildmere's face flushed with pleasure and softened into a welcoming smile, such as she had not yet bestowed upon any who had sought her favor.

Then, in swift alternation, she bent upon Madge a brief, cold glance of scrutiny.

So brief was it, and so complacent was the expression of the belle as she turned away, that the pallid, sensitive girl was told, as by words, "You are nothing." That glance was like a sharp, deep wound, and pierced where she was most vulnerable.

It said to her, "You are not capable of being anything to Graydon Muir.

I am not in the least afraid of you." What was she to him?
What did she wish to be?
To these questions Madge had but one answer.