Wych Hazel

by Susan Warner; Anna Bartlett Warner

CHAPTER XXIII.

KITTY FISHER.

Nothing but the most superb propriety was to be expected at Mrs. Powder's; nevertheless Wych Hazel went escorted by Prim and Rollo in Dr; Maryland's rockaway. Dr. Maryland himself had been persuaded to the dinner, and it was on his arm Miss Kennedy made her entrance upon the company. Something unlike anything the doctor had ever taken charge of before,—in a dress of tea-rose colour this time, and with only tea-roses for trimming.

It was not a large company assembled for dinner, though everybody was expected in the evening. This was a different affair from Merricksdale; on old proud family name in the mistress of the mansion; old fashioned respectability and modern fashion commingled in the house and entertainment; the dinner party very strictly chosen. Beyond that fact, it was not perhaps remarkable. After dinner Dr. Maryland went home; and gayer and younger began to pour in. Following close upon Mrs. Merrick's entertainment, this evening too had the adornment of the full moon; and as this party also was an out- door one, as much as people chose to have it so, the adornment was material. A large pleasure ground around the house, half garden, half shrubbery, was open to promenaders; and at certain points there were lights and seats and music and refreshments; the last two not necessarily together. On this pleasure ground opened the windows of the drawing room and to this led the steps of the piazza; and so it came to pass in the course of the evening that the house was pretty well deserted of all but the elderly part of the guests.

In this state of things, said elderly portion of the company might as well be at home for all the care they are able to bestow on the younger. Wandering in shadow and light, in and out through the winding walks, blending in groups and scattered in couples, the young friends of Mrs. Powder did pretty much as they pleased. But one thing Wych Hazel had cause to suspect as the evening wore on, that though her guardian proper was fast at-home, she had an active actual guardian much nearer to her, and in fact never very far off for long at a time. Indeed he paraded no attentions, either before Wych Hazel's eyes or the eyes of the public; but if she wanted anything, Rollo found it out; if she needed anything, he was at hand to give it. His care did not burden her, nor make itself at all conspicuous to other people; nevertheless she surely could not but be conscious of it. This by the way.

Dr. Maryland had not been gone long; the new arrivals were just pouring in; when a seat beside Wych Hazel was taken by Mr. Nightingale.

'You were at Merricksdale the other night?' he said after the first compliments.

'Yes, for a while.'

'I knew you would be. I was in despair that I could not get there;—but engagements—contretemps—held us fast. I see now how much I lost.'

'Then you are released from imaginary evils,—that must be a comfort.'

'Do you know,' said Stuart, 'I think the toilet is a fine art?'

She did not answer, looking at two or three somewhat remarkable specimens of the art that just then swept by.

'Who is Miss Fisher, Mr. Nightingale?' she asked suddenly.

'O don't you know Kitty? To be sure, she has just come.'

'No, I do not know her. May I know who she is?'

'Not to know her, argues—Well, it isn't so extreme a case as that. Miss Fisher, for character, is the most amiable of persons; for accomplishments, she can do everything; for connections, (do you always want to know people's connections?) she is a niece, I believe, of Dr. Maryland's.'

'Of Dr. Maryland's!—O that is good,' said Wych Hazel. 'Is she like Primrose?'

'She is more—like—a purple snap dragon,' said Stuart, reflectively. 'Do you read characters in flowers? and then look out for their moral prototypes in the social world?'

'I do not believe I ever had the credit of "looking out" for anything!—Good evening, Mr. Simms.'

' "It was the witching hour of night!" '—quoted Mr. Simms with a deprecating gesture. 'Really, Miss Kennedy, I do not see why the story books make it out such a misfortune for a man to be turned to stone. I think, in some circumstances, it is surely the best thing that can happen to him. There is Nightingale, now—he would feel no end better for a slight infusion of silica!'—and with another profound reverence, Mr. Simms moved off.

'I should like to see the philosopher that would make an infusion of silica!' muttered Stuart. 'He's never drunk it. What is the use of poets in the world, Miss Kennedy?'

'To furnish people with quotations—as a general thing,' said
Wych Hazel.

'Precisely my idea. And that's stupid, for people don't want them. It looks bright out among Mrs. Powder's bushes—shall we go and try how it feels?'

It was pretty, and pleasant. Moonlight and lamps do make a witching world of it; and under the various lights flitted such a multitude of gay creatures that Mr. Falkirk's favourite allusion to Enchanted ground would have been more than usually appropriate. All the colours in the rainbow, gleaming by turns in all possible alternations and degrees of light and shadow; a moving kaleidoscope of humanity; the eye at least was entertained. And Stuart endeavoured to find entertainment for the ear of his companion. They wandered up and down, in and out; not meeting many people; in the changing lights it was easy to miss anybody at pleasure. In the course of the walk Stuart begged for a ride with Miss Kennedy, again negatived on the plea that Miss Kennedy's horses were not yet come. Stuart immediately besought to be allowed to supply that want for the occasion. His aunt had a nice little Canadian pony.

'I cannot tell,' said Wych Hazel, gaily. 'You know I must ask
Mr. Falkirk.'

'You do not mean that?' said Stuart.

'Why of course I mean it.'

'Is it possible you are in such bondage? But by the way, there is going to be some singing presently, which I think you will like. I have been counting upon it for you.'

'Is there?' she said,—'where? You are right in the fact, Mr. Nightingale, but quite wrong as to terms. I mean, the terms give a false impression of the fact. Where is the music to be, Mr. Rollo?' For Rollo, prowling about in the shrubbery, had at the moment joined them. He answered rather absently, that he believed it was to be in the garden.

'Do you understand, Mr. Nightingale?'—Wych Hazel resumed, turning to her other companion—'that is a mistake.'

'Can you prove it? But apropos, I am right in supposing that you are fond of music? That is true, isn't it?'

'Very true!'—But she was thinking.—'Mr. Rollo, how can you always say what you mean, without saying what you do not mean?' she asked suddenly.

'Choose your audience,' said Rollo.

'I like to say what I mean to anybody!'

'It is a great luxury. But the corresponding luxury of being understood, is not always at command. Have you been puzzling Mr. Nightingale?' he asked in an amused voice.

'Only presenting my ideas wrong end first, as usual. Is Miss
Fisher here to-night?—and do you like her, Mr. Rollo?'

'Miss Fisher?—Kitty?—I have not seen her since I came home from Europe. But there is Prim. I must go and take care of her.'

He disappeared. The walk and talk of the two others was prolonged, until faint sweet notes of wind instruments from afar called them to join the rest of the world.

There was quite a little company gathered at this point, a small clearing in the shrubbery around one side of which seats were placed. Here the music lovers (and some others) were ranged, in a tiny semi-circle, half in shadow, half in light, as the lamps and moonbeams served. The light came clear upon half the little spot of greensward; glittering on leaves and branches beyond, glanced on the tops of trees higher up. A lively chitter-chatter was going on, after the fashion of such companies, when Wych Hazel came up, but a moment after the first notes of the music struck their ears, and all was as hushed as the moonlight itself. Only the notes of the harmony floated in and out through the trees; nothing else moved.

Mrs. Powder had managed to secure some good musical talent, for the performance was of excellent quality. Perhaps summer air and moonbeams helped the effect. At any rate, the first performance, a duet between a flute and a violin, was undoubtedly listened to; and that is saying much. The performers were out of sight. Then a fine soprano voice followed, in a favourite opera air.

Wych Hazel was seated near one end of the semi-circle, with Primrose just behind her; both of them in shadow. Rollo had been standing in the full light just before them; but during the singing he was beckoned away and the spot was clear. In two minutes more Stuart Nightingale had brought a camp chair to Wych Hazel's side. He was quiet till the song was over and the little gratified buzz of voices began. Under this cover he spoke low—

'Have you two guardians, Miss Kennedy?'

'One has answered all my purposes hitherto,' she answered with a laugh. 'Do I seem to need another?'

'Seem to have another. Pardon me. Do you like to be taken care of?' He spoke in her own tone.

'By myself—best! If I must speak the truth.'

'Ah, I thought so! who else can do it so well? A fine woman needs no other control than her own. Am I to be disappointed of that ride?' He was speaking very softly.

'Well, I will prefer my request,' said Hazel. 'I wish I could say yes, at once. But how shall I let you now?'

Prim's hand touched her shoulder at this instant, for delicious notes of two voices stole upon the air from the hiding place of Mrs. Powder's troup. The lady's voice they had heard before; it was one of great power and training, and it came now mingling with a sweet full bass voice. There was no more talking until the music ended. It was a fine bit from a German opera.

'How do you like that?' Stuart asked.

Hazel drew a deep breath. 'Can you tell how you like things?' she said.

'Yes!' said Stuart. 'After we get that ride I am talking of, I'll tell you how I liked it. By the way, I will do myself the honour to be the receiver of your answer concerning it. But this pleasure—no,—yes, I do know why I enjoy it; but it is not because the voices are fine or the music expressive. Can you guess?'

'Not for the music, and not for the voices!' said the girl looking at him.

'A puzzle, isn't it?' said Stuart. 'No; the music expresses nothing to me—this sort of music; and voices are voices—but—I care only for voices that I know.'

Another little word of warning from Prim behind her,—'O Hazel, listen!'—prevented any reply; and Stuart's 'Yes, this is something, now,'—made it unnecessary. And the singing would have made it impossible. A man's voice alone; the same rich, full, sweet bass; in the ballad of the "Three Fishers." Whether Mr. Nightingale had divined that somebody was near who knew Wych Hazel, or merely acted on general prudential motives, he left his seat and stood a little apart while the ballad was sung.

'Do you like that?' Primrose whispered.

'The voice—not the ballad.'

'Nor I either,' said Prim. 'I don't see what he sings it for.'

There was but a moment's interval, and then the same voice began another strain, so noble, so deep, so thrilling, that every breath was held till it had done. The power of the voice came out in this strain; the notes were wild, pleading, agonizing, yet with slow, sweet human melody. The air thrilled with them; they seemed to float off and lose themselves through the woods; sadly, grandly, the song breathed and fell and ceased. Wych Hazel did not speak nor stir, nor look, except on the ground, even when the last notes had died away. Only her little hands held each other very close, her cheeks resting on them.

'Yes, I know,' said Primrose softly. 'That is Handel.'

Stuart Nightingale presently slid back to his seat; and now there came a stir; the music was discontinued. In a few minutes Rollo came bringing refreshments; Mr. Nightingale bestirred himself in the same cause; and presently they were all eating ices and fruits. At which juncture Miss Josephine joined herself to the party, with one or two of her sort, while several gentlemen began to "fall in," behind Miss Kennedy.

'Did you have a good time at Merricksdale?' Josephine asked.

'Not better than usual,' Hazel answered.

'Danced, didn't you? I wanted mamma to have dancing to-night, and she wouldn't. She's so awfully slow! O Mr. Rollo, do you like dancing?'

'On anything but my own feet,' said Rollo.

'Anything but your own feet? How can you dance on anything but your own feet?'

'My horse's feet? Or what do you think of a good yacht and a good breeze?'

'Horrid! I never want to be in one. And don't you like dancing? O why? Don't you, Miss Kennedy? don't you, Mr. Nightingale?'

'Depends on the dance,' said Stuart. 'And on my partner.'

'O it don't signify what partner you have. In fact, you dance with everybody, you know. That is the best fun. Don't you like the German, Miss Kennedy?'

'Not with everybody,' said Miss Kennedy, thinking of possible partners.

'O but you must, you know, in the German—and that's the fun. I don't think anything else is fun. Of course the people are all proper. Don't you like the German, Mr. Rollo?'

'I do not dance it.'

'Not? Don't you? O why? You do dance, I know, for I've seen you; you waltz like a German, a man, I mean. Why don't you dance the German?'

'How does a German—a man, I mean—waltz, Miss Phinney? as distinguished from other nationalities?' Stuart asked.

'O, different.'

'Wont you tell us in what way? This is interesting.'

'It wont help you,' said Josephine; 'and you dance well, besides. A German waltzes slow and elegantly.'

'And other people?'—

'You may laugh, but it's true; I've noticed it. An Englishman sways and a Frenchman spins, but a German floats. O it's just delicious! Why dont you dance the German, Dane Rollo? You're not pious.'

Rollo did not join in the general smile. He answered composedly—

'What I would not let my sister do, Miss Josephine, I am bound not to ask of another lady.'

'Why wouldn't you let your sister? You haven't got one, and don't know. But that's being awfully strict. I had no idea you were so strict. I thought you were jolly.'

'Could you hinder your sister?' Stuart asked with a slight laugh. The answer was, however, unhesitating.

'Why would you hinder her?' repeated Josephine.

'Ask Kitty Fisher.'

'Kitty? Does she know? And why shouldn't you tell us as well as her?'

Rollo took Miss Kennedy's plate at the instant and went off with it.

'That's all bosh,' said Josephine. 'I like people that are jolly. The German is real jolly. Last week we danced it with candles—it was splendid fun.'

'Not here?' said one of the gentlemen.

'Here? No. You bet. My mother is my mother, and nobody ever charged her with being jolly, I suppose.'

'How could you dance with candles?' said Primrose's astonished voice.

'Yes. Six of us had great long wax candles, lighted; and we stood up on a chair.'

'Six of you on a chair!'

'The old question of the schoolmen!'—cried Nightingale, bursting into a laugh.

'Of course on six chairs, I mean. Of course. Six of us on a chair!'—

'But what did you get on chairs for?'

'Why!—then the gentlemen danced round us, and at the signal— the leader gave the signal—the gentlemen jumped up as high as they could and tried to blow out our lights; and they had to keep step and jump; and if any gentleman could blow out the candle nearest him he could dance with that lady. Didn't we make them jump, though! We held our candles up so high, you know, they could not get at them. Unless we liked somebody and wanted him for a partner. O we had a royal time!'

'Did the gentlemen dance—and blow—indiscriminately?' inquired
Miss Kennedy with a curl of her lips.

'No, no!—how you do tell things, Josephine!' said Miss Burr. 'Two gentlemen for each chair,—and whichever of the two put the candle out, he danced with the lady.'

'Kitty had four or five round her chair'—said Josephine.

'And couldn't the lady help herself?' inquired Primrose, in a tone of voice which called forth a universal burst of laughter.

'Why we did,' said Josephine. 'If you don't like a man, you hold the candle up out of his reach.'

'You couldn't baffle everybody so,' remarked Mr. Kingsland. Several gentlemen had come up during the talk, closing in round Miss Kennedy.

'Mr. Rollo is right about one thing,' said Miss Burr; 'nobody has seen the German who has not seen it led by Kitty Fisher. You should see her dance it, Miss Kennedy.'

'Yes, you should,' echoed Mr. May, 'I had rather look on than be in it, for my part.'

'What do you think she did at Catskill the other day?' said Miss Burr. 'She took a piece of ice between her teeth, and went round the piazza asking all the gentlemen to take a bite.'

'Clever Kitty! She'll work that up into a new figure—see if she dont,'—said Mr. Kingsland.

'To be called the noli me tangere!' said Mr. May. 'Partners secured at the melting point.' The other gentlemen laughed.

'I see you and Kitty are at swords' points yet,' said Miss
Burr.

'No,' put in Rollo—'she likes a foil better than a rapier.'

'Certainly it does not sound as if she was like you,
Primrose,' observed Wych Hazel.

'Like Miss Maryland!—Hardly,' said Mr. May. 'Nor like any one your thoughts could even imagine,' he added softly.

It was growing late now, and the moon gradually passing along behind the trees, found a clear space at this point, and looked down full at the little party to see what they were about. Just then, from the distance, came a stir and a murmur and sound of laughing voices.

'She's coming this minute!' said Mr. Kingsland. ' "Talk about angels"!—Your curiosity will soon be fed, Miss Kennedy,—and may, perchance, like other things, grow by what it feeds on. Here comes the redoubtable Kitty herself!—Miss Fisher!—my poor eyes have seen nothing since they last beheld you!'

'Don't see much in ordinary,' said a gay voice; and a young lady,—too young, alas, for the part she was playing!—swept into the circle. A very handsome girl, with a coronet of fair hair, from which strayed braids and curls and crinkles and puffs and bands and flowers and ribbands; her dress in the extremest extremity of the fashion, very long, very low; with puffs and poufs innumerable; the whole borne up by the highest and minutest pair of heels that ever a beguiling shoemaker sent forth. She nodded, laughing, and held out her hands right and left.

'How d'ye do, Stephen?—Mr. Richard May!'—with a profound reverence. 'And if there isn't our Norwegian back again! Glad to see you, Mr. Rollo. Have you leaned how to spell your name yet?'

But to this lady Rollo gave one of his Spanish salutations; while Phinny Powder jumped up and exclaimed with pleasure, and Primrose uttered from behind them her quiet 'how d'ye do Kitty?' Wych Hazel on her part had risen too—drawing a little back from the front, in the sudden desire for a distant view first.

'I see,' Miss Fisher went on, speaking to Rollo.—'The e in the middle as usual, and the i and the g to keep it there. Why, Prim, my dear child!—you here? Among all these black coats of unclerical order?—How do you do?'—with an embrace. 'And how is my uncle?—But where is Miss Kennedy? I am dying to see Miss Kennedy!—and they told me she was here.'

'The time to die is—after you have seen Miss Kennedy,' said
Mr. Kingsland.

'To my face!' said Kitty. 'Well!—That is she, I know, behind
Mr. May. Introduce us Richard, please.'

Mr. May stepped aside, and with extreme formality presented Miss Fisher to the lady of Chickaree. Kitty touched hands,—and paused, forgetting to take her own away. The young 'unwonted' face was certainly a novelty to her. And a surprise.

'We shall all be jealous of her for her little mouth,' was her first remark. 'Don't everybody generally kiss you, child, that comes near enough?'

Wych Hazel withdrew her hand, stepping back again in her astonishment, and surveying Miss Fisher.

'People do not—generally—come near enough,' she said, as well as it could be said.

There was a little round of applause from the gentlemen at that. Kitty Fisher nodded, not at all displeased.

'She'll do,' she said. 'I was afraid she was nothing but a milksop,—all strawberries and cream. I vow she's handsome!'

'Handsome is that handsome does,' said Rollo. 'Miss Kitty, will you sit down and take things calmly?'—offering a chair.

'Yes, I'll take the chair; and Miss Kennedy and I'll divide the civil speech between us,' said Kitty Fisher, placing herself close by Hazel. 'It's awfully nice here. What are you all about?'

'Just unable to get on for want of Miss Fisher,' said Stuart.
'Calling for you, in fact.'

'Echo answering "Where?" and all that,' said Kitty.

'Not at all. Echo said you were coming.'

'No dancing to-night?—awfully slow, isn't it? Beg pardon, Phinny; but you think just so yourself. Go off and start up the band into a waltz, and we'll have it out before the old lady gets the idea into her head. Come?'

Phinny started off on the instant with such energy and goodwill to her errand, that in a few minutes the burst of a waltz air in the immediate neighbourhood of the parties requiring it, said that Miss Josephine had been successful. And she said it herself.

'There!' she exclaimed; 'we've got it. Mamma'll never care, if she hears, nor know, if she sees. Come! Here are enough of us.'

One and another couple sailed off from the group. Stuart offered his hand to Wych Hazel. 'You waltz?' he said.

She gave hers readily. The music had put her on tiptoe. And presently the little green was full of flying footsteps and fluttering draperies. As many as there was room for took the ground; but there was good room, and the waltz was spirited. Some stood and looked on; some beat time with their feet. In a shadow of the corner where they had been talking, stood Prim and Rollo; not beating time. Prim put her hand on his arm, but neither spoke a word.

'Shall we take a tangent,—and finish our stroll?' whispered
Stuart, when they had whirled round the circle several times.

'If you like,—one is ready for anything in such a night,' said Hazel gleefully. She had gone round much like a thistledown, with a child's face and movement of pleasure. So, suddenly and silently, as they were passing one of the alleys that led out from the little green, Stuart and his partner disappeared from the eyes of the spectators. It was certainly a pleasant night for a stroll. The light made such new combinations of old things, took and gave such new views; the pleasure of looking for them and finding them was ensnaring. Then the air was very sweet and soft, and—so was Stuart's conversation.

Gliding on from one thing to another, even as their footsteps went,—mingling fun and fancy and common-place and flattery in a very agreeable sort of pot-pourri,—so they followed down one alley of the shrubbery and up another; winding about and about, but keeping at a distance from other people. Until, much too soon for Stuart's intent, they were suddenly and quietly joined at a fork of the paths by Rollo, with Miss Fisher on his arm.

As the waltz ceased, Rollo had secured without difficulty the companionship of Miss Fisher for a walk; and Miss Fisher never knew how peculiar a walk it was, nor imagined that her cavalier was following a very fixed and definite purpose of his own. Nothing seemed less purposeful than the course they took; it was no course; from one path diverging into another, changing from one direction to another; a hunted hare would scarce make more doublings, or anything else, except the dog in chase of the hare. Kitty only knew that she was very well amused; her companion never left that doubtful, nor allowed her much leisure to make inconvenient observations; and, in short, Kitty did not care where they went!—and Rollo did care. So it fell out, that quite suddenly, and as much to his companion's surprise as anybody's, quite easily and naturally they stepped out of one walk into another just as Wych Hazel and her attendant came to the same spot.

'Your old proverbs are all stuff,' Kitty was saying to her companion. 'I do think she's the prettiest thing I ever saw. Only she don't know her tools. Just wait till I've had her in training a while!'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Rollo, 'how would you like to be in training?' They had somehow joined company with Stuart and Wych Hazel, not by the former's good will, but he could not manage to help it.

'I may as well reserve my views on that subject for somebody who wants to try,' said the girl, with a laugh. She had not heard Kitty Fisher.

'On what point just now do you think you need it?'

'I am in an extremely contented state of mind "just now," thank you, Mr. Rollo.'

'Miss Fisher would not think that proves anything.'

'Does Miss Kitty offer her services as trainer?' asked Stuart.

'Now just wait, both of you,' said Kitty Fisher, 'and let Miss Kennedy get used to me a little. She's awfully shocked, to begin with; and you're trying to make believe she'll never get over it.'

A slight gesture of Miss Kennedy's head, unseen by Miss Kitty, seemed to say that was extremely probable.

'You should let her get accustomed to you by degrees,' said Stuart. 'Hover about in the middle distance, suppose, without getting out of the range of vision—so that you may make your approaches to her heart through her eyes. That is an excellent way.'

'Is it?' said Kitty. 'You've tried all ways, I presume. But I notice that just now you seem to prefer the ear as a medium. Wouldn't she be splendid in the "Thread of Destiny," Stuart?'

'I should think so, if I were at the end of the thread!'

'You would not suppose it, Miss Kennedy,' said Rollo; 'but the "Thread of Destiny" is a silk ribband. The destiny is not therefore always silken.'

'Much you know about it!' said Kitty. 'I just wish I could see you thoroughly wound up for once, with Bell Powder and two or three other people.'

'Wych Hazel was growing rather weary of the talk. 'Who were the singers to-night, Mr. Nightingale?' she said, pitching her voice for his benefit alone.

'Really,' said he, in an answering tone, 'I am not musical enough to be certain about it. Voices in common speech I can understand and appreciate; but in this kind of manifestation— Mrs. Powder knows her business. She had secured the right sort of thing. The principal singer is a lady who has studied abroad; they are all visitors or dwellers in the neighbourhood. Did you like the performance?'

'Some of it; but the singing above all. You cannot understand that?'

'If you and Miss Kennedy want to whisper,' said Kitty Fisher, 'fall back a little, can't you, Mr. Nightingale? or turn down another path. It disturbs my own train of thought, this trying to hear what other people say.'

'Nobody would suspect Miss Fisher,' said Rollo, dryly, 'of being unwilling that anybody should hear what she has to say.'

'Do you know,' said Kitty, turning upon him with an emphasizing pressure of the arm she held, 'what my thoughts really are at work upon?'

'Yes.'

'Let's hear. Tell me, and I'll tell you.'

'I do not think,' said Rollo, slowly,—'it would be expedient.'

'Fudge! You know you couldn't. I have been trying to find out what so extremely sedate a person was after when he undertook to walk me round in the moonlight!'

And in defiance of everything, Wych Hazel's soft 'Ha! ha!' responded,—a little as if the question had perplexed her too.

'Have you had a good time?' said Rollo coolly.

'Very!—which makes it the more puzzling. Did Mr. Rollo ever walk with you in the moonlight, Miss Kennedy?'

'Yes.'

'Have a good time?' said Kitty.

The girl hesitated; but among her accomplishments the art of pretty fibs had not been included. The truth had to come out in some shape.

'So far as Mr. Rollo could make it,'—she said at last.

O how Kitty Fisher laughed! and the gentlemen both smiled.

'Why, that is capital!' she cried. 'I couldn't have done better myself!' Wych Hazel blushed painfully; but Rollo's answer was extremely unconcerned.

'I don't always give people a good time,' he said. 'You are fortunate, Miss Kitty. I am impelled to ask, in this connection, how long Mrs. Powder expects us to make our good times this evening?'

Upon comparing watches in the moonlight, it was found that the night was well on its way. There was nothing more to do but to go home.

On the way home, a little bit of talk occurred in the rockaway, which may be reported. Going along quietly in the bright moonlit road, Rollo driving, Primrose suddenly asked a question—

'Didn't you use to be a great waltzer, Duke?'

'A waltzer?—yes.'

'Then what made you not waltz to-night?'

Rollo leaned back against one side of the rockaway, and answered, while the old horse walked leisurely on—,

'I have looked at the subject from a new point of view, Prim.'

'Have you?—From what point of view, Duke?' said Primrose, much interested.

'I have made up my mind,' said Rollo slowly, 'I shall waltz no more,—except with the lady who will be my wife. And when I waltz with her,—she will waltz with nobody else!'

Prim sat back in her corner, and spoke not a word more.