Delia went to the hall door. As he turned, she caught his arm.

"What is it, Ben?" she said in a hurried whisper. "Something has happened to vex you."

"Something!" with youthful bitterness. "We never have any good times any more. There's always such a crowd--"

"Oh, Ben! Are you jealous? Why, you know I like you better than any of them! Gordon only comes to get ideas; he's so very anxious to do something in literature. As if I could help anybody!" and she laughed.

"The others come for fun. You're worth them all, Ben. Oh, don't go away angry!" with a voice of tender pleading.

Ben felt suddenly foolish. Was he angry over such a trifle? Then he glanced up in Delia's face; he was on the step below. What was there in her eyes; and she had said she liked him better than any of them, even that handsome Van Doren. Well, he was most jealous of Van Doren, who was in his last year at Columbia, and whose father was rich and indulgent.

"Oh," he said with an indrawn breath, "you must know that I love you.

I've always loved you, I think."

She put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. It was very reprehensible, I suppose. Young people were honestly friendly in those days, and seldom had a chaperone; yet they did not play at love, unless they were real flirts; and a flirt soon gained an unenviable reputation.

"Come down a ways with me," he entreated, with a little tremulous sound in his voice that touched her.

The street was very quiet. He put his arm about her, and drew her close to his side.

"Oh, it's cool out here, and you've no wrap!" He was suddenly very careful of her. "But I wanted to say--it isn't only a like, but a love.

You _do_ love me, Delia?"

"I love you, love you! I love you and yours."

"Of course we will have to wait. We are both young. But I'm doing a bit of outside work, and have a chance to come up--"

"If we did marry, you'd have to come and live with me; for I have promised Aunt Patty never to leave her. I haven't really thought about marriage. There is so much to my life all the time. Oh, yes, we can wait. But you must not feel afraid, Ben. I like fun and nonsense, and plenty of people to talk to. I'm not sure I shall make a good wife, even, though both of my sisters do."

"I want you, good or bad," said Ben, sturdily.

They both laughed, and then he kissed her again.

"Oh, you must go back! You'll get an awful cold."

"I never do take cold. I'll run like a flash. Come to-morrow night. Oh, Ben!"

"Oh, Delia, my darling!"

Then she flew back. How long had she been gone? She re-entered the room with a most nonchalant air; and in two minutes she had them all in a whirl of conversation, even if they did look rather curious.

Ben sauntered up home. It was quite early. Hanny was upstairs reading to grandmother, who went to bed at nine, and liked to have Hanny come in and read to her. Joe sat in his office, poring over an abstruse medical article. He glanced up and nodded.

"Joe," the lad began, with a bright flush that gave a certain tenderness to his eyes, which were dewy sweet,--"Joe, listen a minute. I am engaged to Delia Whitney,--just to-night. But I hate mean, underhand things. I wanted some one to know it. And--shall I tell mother? Of course she won't like it; though I don't see why."

"Ben, I don't believe I would just now. You are young, and you won't be married under a year or two. No, I would wait a little. She may settle to it presently," said the elder, thoughtfully.

"I don't want her to feel hurt. I'd just like to go and tell her, I am so happy."

He looked so brave and manly that Joe was almost sorry not to send him.

But he _did_ know that his mother objected to it strenuously, and might say something that would cut Ben to the heart.

Latterly, he had been cherishing a vague belief that the affair would end in a sort of a good comradeship.

"Thank you," Ben laid his hand on the elder's shoulder. "You are a dear good brother, Joe. Don't you suppose you will ever marry? No one will be quite good enough for you. You're a splendid fellow."

Joe went back to his book; but it had lost interest. Well--it was rather queer. He had been made very welcome in several houses; and Margaret had given delicate little suggestions. But he had never cared for any one.

He would be nine and twenty on his next birthday,--quite a bachelor.

It was somewhat curious; but Ben, who had never cared for fixing up, though he was always clean, suddenly developed a new care for his cuffs and collars, and indulged in light-coloured neckties, and gloves that he could no longer "run and jump in," as Jim had accused him of doing. He went out Sunday evening to tea, which was a new thing, though he often stayed at the Whitneys' through the week. There was a certain air of being of supreme consequence to some one; Mrs. Underhill rather resented it.

Jim was very gay this winter. A good-looking young collegian who was bright and full of fun, and could sing college glees in a fine tenor voice, tell a capital story, and dance well, was not likely to go begging.

One evening he stumbled over his old friend Lily Ludlow, whom he had not seen for two years,--a tall, stylish girl, handsome in the ordinary acceptation of the word, but lacking some of the finer qualities, if you studied her closely. There had been some great changes in her life. Her father had died suddenly, leaving but small provision for them. Chris had her hands full trying to live pretentiously on a rather small income.

They had found an elderly aunt of Mr. Ludlow's who, in her day, had been quite a society woman. She had an old-fashioned but well furnished house in Amity Street, and had not given up all her acquaintances. The house was to go to her husband's family when she was done with it, there being no children; and her income ended with her life, so there was nothing to expect from her.

"But I do want a housekeeper and a nurse, sometimes," she said to Mrs. Ludlow. "If you like to fill the place, you will have a good home and good wages. And Lily's fine looks ought to get her a husband."

Amity Street still had a rather select air, if its fashion was falling off a little. The house was old, but not out of date, and quite imposing; and the big doorplate, with "Nicoll" on it, stamped it as undeniably aristocratic, Miss Lily thought. She urged her mother to accept it.

"I don't feel as if I could be at that queer old woman's beck and call.

I remember when we were first married she said some very mean things. My family was quite as good as your father's, Lily. Neither of his brothers amounted to much, though his sister married a rich Southerner and went off to forget all her relatives. We've never asked anything of the Ludlows, and I don't want to now."

"But it will only be for a year or two. Of course I shall marry; and then you will have two homes."

"I'd a sight rather go with Chris. And if you could teach--seems to me you might, with your education. And you have had two lovers already."

"Who couldn't take care of me. I am not going to marry that way. But, as Aunt Nicoll says, 'We shall be sure of a good home.'"

Lily gained her point. Early in the preceding spring they had gone to Amity Street. The spacious, old-fashioned parlours were a little out of date, but had been elegant in their day. Lily laid off her mourning, and fell heir to some handsome gowns that Chris helped her remodel. Mrs.

Nicoll was queer and bad-tempered; and the difficulty had been to keep servants who would submit to such exactions. Matters went a little smoother; but poor Mrs. Ludlow had to suffer.

Lily spent a month at Saratoga with Mrs. Nicoll and the maid. The old lady was a good deal entertained by the airs and graces and bright ways of her grand-niece. Lily made several conquests; but the desirable offer of marriage was not forth-coming.

Mrs. Nicoll gave a reception early in the season,--a thing she always did; and her friends attended with a certain kindly feeling that she was old, and the duty might never be required of them again. Miss Lily made quite an impression; and cards and invitations were left for her. And when she attended a dance at the Apollo Rooms, the height of her ambition was reached.

At a pretty private dance she met her school-day admirer again, and tried her charms, which had increased notably since that youthful period. She did dance beautifully, and had no lack of the small talk of the day. Jim promised to call, and did so at an early date, rather surprised at the solid elegance of the place. Lily expatiated skilfully on dear old Aunt Nicoll, who _would_ have mother come and stay with her; since they were alone it seemed the best thing to do; and Aunt Nicoll had no near relatives of her own. There were plenty of her husband's family "hungry for what she had," said Lily, with a sort of sneer, as if they might find themselves mistaken in the end.

Certainly, Jim thought, Lily had dropped in a clover-field. He found that Mrs. Nicoll was considered a rich woman. Lily was handsomely dressed, and no doubt she would be kindly remembered in the old lady's will. Not that Jim was speculating on any part or lot in the matter. He was too young; he would have his three years in the law school, and after that, getting established.

Lily begged him to bring some of his friends. The house was lonely, with no young people for companionship; and she raised her eyes in the old pleading fashion that even now had quite an effect upon him.

Jim chose several young men that he associated with. Some of them had sisters, who declared Miss Ludlow charming. She was not anxious now to have any of the Underhills on her visiting-list; but she did mean to make use of Jim. She had grown quite worldly-wise and experienced.

Two of Jim's friends were generously supplied with pocket-money. One was a young Virginian, Mr. Weir, the other, Harry Gaynor, and both spent lavishly. Flowers were costly then; and Lily was the recipient of many a handsome bouquet. In return, she now and then gave a dainty supper, simple to be sure, or a card-party, with some delightful confections, and a little coffee or chocolate. Mrs. Nicoll always retired early, and took some drops to make sure of sleeping the first part of the night, so she was not easily disturbed.

Then there were stars at the theatres. Parodi was emulating Jenny Lind, who had gone to Havana; and the houses were crowded, if the tickets were not so high. It was so easy to spend money when an artful girl, with softest voice and bewitching eyes, planned for you. And it was so easy to borrow, when you had good friends.

Miss Lily looked carefully over her ground; Harry Gaynor was gay and delightful, but one couldn't be quite sure he was not flirting. And though Mr. Weir had plenty of money, there was a large family of brothers and sisters, and they lived on an extensive plantation miles away from any considerable town. There was a Mr. Lewis, not so young, who had an interest in an old well-established leather firm that had been left him by an uncle. There were some non-eligibles.