CONFIDENCE
"I don't know, my daughter. I don't understand you."
A charming pink flush had come into Angela's cheek and a noticeable light into her eye. She looked admirably handsome, and Bernard frankly gazed at her. She met his gaze an instant, and then she went on—
"Mr. Longueville doesn't understand me either. You must know that I am agitated," she continued. "Every now and then I have moments of talking nonsense. It's the air of Baden, I think; it's too exciting. It's only lately I have been so. When you go away I shall be horribly ashamed."
"If the air of Baden has such an effect upon you," said Bernard, "it is only a proof the more that you need the solicitous attention of your friends."
"That may be; but, as I told you just now, I have no confidence—none whatever, in any one or anything. Therefore, for the present, I withdraw from the world—I shall seclude myself. Let us go on being quiet, mamma; three or four days of it have been so charming. Let the parcel lie till it's called for—it is much safer it shouldn't be touched at all. I shall assume that, metaphorically speaking, Mr. Wright, who, as you have intimated, is our earthly providence, has turned the key upon us. I am locked up. I shall not go out, except upon the balcony!" And with this, Angela stepped out of the long window and went and stood beside Miss Evers.
Bernard was extremely amused, but he was also a good deal puzzled, and it came over him that it was not a wonder that poor Wright should not have found this young lady's disposition a perfectly decipherable page. He remained in the room with Mrs. Vivian—he stood there looking at her with his agreeably mystified smile. She had turned away,
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