"I did not mean to be so wrong; but I was so unhappy and he cared-"

"What shall I do without you all winter?"

"What have you done without me every winter?" she asked merrily.

With an effort she drew herself away from the arm that would have encircled her. Morbidly fearful of making another mistake, she would not answer his words or his tone.

"The witches get into me at night," she said, soberly, "and I say things that I may regret in the sunlight."

"It is not like you to regret speaking truth. Remember, I do not exact any promise from you; but if the time ever come that you know you love me, I want you to tell me so."

"I will."

He drove up under the maple trees, before the low iron fence, as he had done on the last night of the old year; another old year was almost ended; they stood holding each other's hand, neither caring to speak.

Ralph Towne would not have been himself, if he had not bent and kissed her lips; and she would not have been herself, had she not received it gravely and gladly. After that it was not easy to go in among the talkers and the lights; she stood longer than a moment on the piazza, schooling herself to bear scrutiny, to answer with unconcern; still she felt dizzy and answered the first questions rather at random.

"Going around in the dark has set your wits to wool-gathering," said her mother.

"We waited tea," said Dinah.

"You did not come alone, daughter?" asked her father.

"No, sir. Dr. Towne brought me."

"We are very hungry," said Mr. Hammerton.

"We will talk over the book before chess, Gus, if you please. I have some packing to do, and I am very tired."

"How is Sue?" inquired her mother.

"Very well."

"Is she taking it hard?"

"Perhaps. I do not know what hard is."

"Is her mourning all ready?"

"Yes'm."

"A young widow is a beautiful sight," observed Mrs. Wadsworth pathetically.

"Probably some one will think so," said Mr. Hammerton, speaking quickly to save Tessa from replying.

"Take off your things, Tessa," said Dinah. "I want my supper."

"It's _his_ night, isn't it?" asked Mr. Hammerton, teasingly; Dinah colored, looked confused, and ran down-stairs to ring the tea-bell.

The door-bell clanged sharply through the house as they were rising from the table. "I was young myself once," remarked Mr. Hammerton.

"I don't believe it," retorted Dinah, putting her hands instinctively up to her hair.

"You'll do, run along," laughed her father. "Oh, how old I feel to see my little girls becoming women."

"I should think Tessa would feel old," replied Mrs. Wadsworth, significantly.

"I do," said Tessa, rising. "Where is your criticism, Mr. Critic; I have some packing to do to-night, so you may cut me to pieces before chess."

"No matter about chess," said Mr. Wadsworth.

"Yes, it is; I will not be selfish."

"Then run up and talk over your bookish talk, mother and I will come up presently."

The sitting-room was cozy and home-like, even after the luxury of Mrs.

Towne's handsome apartment. "I don't want to go away," sighed Tessa, dropping into a chair near the round black-and-green covered table. "Why can't people stay at home always?"

"Why indeed?" Mr. Hammerton moved a chair to her side and seating himself carelessly threw an arm over the back of her chair.

How many evenings they had read and studied in this fashion, with Dine on a low stool, her curly head in her sister's lap.

"They will never come again."

"What?" asked Tessa opening the long, yellow envelope he had taken from his pocket.

"The old days when you and Dine and I will not want any one else."

"True; Dine has left us already."

"But you and I are content without her!"

"Are we? I am not sure! Gus your penmanship is perfect; when I am rich, you shall copy my books."

"How rich?"

"Oh, rich enough to give you all you would ask," she answered thoughtlessly. "I expect that I shall have to undergo a process as trying as vivisection; but I will not flinch; it is good for me."

"Don't read it now; save it for the solitude of the country."

"No, I am anxious to see it; you can be setting up the chess-men; I don't want to take you away from father."

With the color rising in his cheeks, he arose and moved the chess-board nearer; standing before her, he began slowly to arrange the pieces. The three large sheets were closely written; she read slowly, once breaking into a laugh and then knitting her brows and drawing her lips together.

"Are you not pleased? Am I not just?"

"A critic is not a fault-finder, necessarily; you are very plain. I will consider each sentence by itself in my solitude; you are a great help to me, Gus. I thank you very much. You have been a help to me all my life."