"I don't wonder, sir. You had much to try you." "Is--is Florence here?" "No, sir," answered Jane, promptly. "She left the house an hour ago." A look of pain appeared on John Linden's pale face. "Did--did she leave a message for me?" he asked, slowly. "She asked me to bid you good-by for her," answered Jane, quickly. "Uncle, don't let yourself be disturbed now with painful thoughts. Eat your breakfast first, and then we will speak of Florence." John Linden ate a very light breakfast. He seemed to have lost his appetite and merely toyed with his food. When he arose from the table, Curtis supported him to the library. "It is very painful to me--this conduct of Florence's, Curtis," he said, as he sank into his armchair. "I understand it fully, uncle," said Curtis. "When I think of it, it makes me very angry with the misguided girl." "Perhaps I have been too harsh--too stern!" "You, uncle, too harsh! Why, you are the soul of gentleness. Florence has shown herself very ungrateful." "Yet, Curtis, I love that girl. Her mother seemed to live again in her. Have I not acted cruelly in requiring her to obey me or leave the house?" "You have acted only for good. You are seeking her happiness." "You really think this, Curtis?" "I am sure of it." "But how will it all end?" asked Linden, bending an anxious look upon his wily nephew. "By Florence yielding." "You are sure of that?" "Yes. Listen, uncle; Florence is only capricious, like most girls of her age. She foolishly desires to have her own way. It is nothing more serious, I can assure you."