Madeline leans back in her chair and laughs; then suddenly becomes grave.
"But I do mean it, Claire, my darling," she says, softly. "And I'll tell you what else I mean. Sit down here, close beside me and listen."
Instinctively Claire obeys.
"Now, then," continues Madeline, "you know what an odd, uncultivated sort of a life mine has been, and you know that this little world of mine has not been a very bright one. Well, ever since I could read and think, I have longed to see Italy, and France, and England, and Germany, and the Holy Land. My work is done here. There is nothing now to prevent my going—no duty to perform, no one to keep me here. I could not find a better friend and companion than Mrs. Ralston, and she is very anxious to go, and to take me with her. You are all very dear to me, but no one needs me now more than she, nor so much. And, Claire, don't make any mistakes about me. I am not going away sorrowfully, or with any heavy weight upon my spirits. I am going to enjoy and make the most and best of the life and youth God has given me. I am going for change, and recreation, and rest. I have been acting the part of an avenger here, a stern, unforgiving Nemesis, but I would do over again all that I have done, if need be. I am not half so good as you. I can not submit with meekness to injustice and wrong. I shall fight my enemies, if I have more to fight, until the end of the chapter. And now I have a confession to make."
Claire stirs uneasily. "Don't," she says, deprecatingly: "I don't want to hear a confession."
"But I want to make one, and you must listen. First, however, let me tell you that during my talk with Mrs. Ralston, I heard about a certain interview, wherein a ridiculous young lady discarded the man she loved, because she fancied she would wrong some one else if she admitted her love for him, and accepted his. Well—don't turn your face away—that was foolish. But my blunder was a downright wicked one. Yes, Claire, I will tell all the truth. When you and I stood together out under the trees, and talked of Clarence Vaughan; when you showed me the picture and told me the little pastoral about Edward Percy; I knew that Clarence Vaughan loved you—and I thought I loved, nay, I did love, him.
"When I came down here and found so soon that Edward Percy was—so utterly unworthy, we will say, because he is dead, I felt at once that you must be undeceived.
"Then a great temptation came to me, and I said to myself, 'When she becomes disenchanted, and ceases to love this man, she will learn to value the other and more noble lover; she will learn to love him!'
"All night long, before I came to undeceive you, and to warn Olive, I battled with a great temptation. And I yielded to it. Listen, Claire, while I tell you how base I was.
"When I set out for the city in the morning, I said to myself: 'Claire Keith is the soul of truth and honor. She is generous to a fault. If I let her see how much I care for Clarence Vaughan, I shall appeal to her pity and her honor, without the aid of words. She will never listen to his suit; she will try to advance my interest; she will become my ally.' See, dear, how truly I judged you.