"We must be married, Alfred, dear!"

"Yes; but when, Fanny?"

"To-day," said Fanny, firmly, and putting out her hand to her beloved.

He seized it mechanically.

"To-day, Fanny?" asked he, after a pause of amazement.

"Certainly, dear--to-day. I am as ready now as I shall be a year hence."

"But what will my mother say?" inquired Alfred, in alarm.

"It will be too late for her to say any thing. Don't you see, Alfred, dear!" continued Fanny, in a most assuring tone, "that if we go to your mother and say, 'Here we are, married!' she has sense enough to perceive that nothing can be done; and after a little while all will be smooth again?"

Her lover was comforted by this view. He was even pleased by the audacity of the project.

"I swear, Fanny," said he, at length, in a more cheerful and composed voice, "I think it's rather a good idea!"

"Of course it is, dear. Are you ready?"

Alfred gasped a little at the prompt question, despite his confidence.

"Why, Fanny, you don't mean actually now--this very day? Gracious!"

"Why not now? Since we think best to be married immediately and in private, why should we put it off until to-night, or next week, when we are both as ready now as we can be then?" asked Fanny, quietly; "especially as something may happen to make it impossible then."

Alfred Dinks shut his eyes.

"What will your father say?" he inquired, at length, without raising his eyelids.

"Do you not see he will have to make up his mind to it, just as your mother will?" replied Fanny.

"And my father!" said Alfred, in a state of temporary blindness continued.

"Yes, and your father too," answered Fanny, both she and Alfred treating the Honorable Budlong Dinks as a mere tender to that woman-of-war his wife, in a way that would have been incredible to a statesman who considered his wife a mere domestic luxury.

There was a silence of several minutes. Then Mr. Dinks opened his eyes, and said,

"Well, Fanny, dear!"

"Well, Alfred, dear!" and Fanny leaned toward him, with her head poised like that of a black snake. Alfred was fascinated. Perhaps he was sorry he was so; perhaps he wanted to struggle. But he did not. He was under the spell.

There was still a lingering silence. Fanny waited patiently. At length she asked again, putting her hand in her lover's:

"Are you ready?"

"Yes!" said Alfred, in a crisp, resolute tone.

Fanny raised her hand and rang the bell. The waiter appeared.

"John, I want a carriage immediately."

"Yes, Miss."

"And, John, tell Mary to bring me my things. I am going out."

"Yes, Miss." And hearing nothing farther, John disappeared.

It was perhaps a judicious instinct which taught Fanny not to leave Alfred alone by going up to array herself in her own chamber. The intervals of delay between the coming of the maid and the coming of the carriage the young woman employed in conversing dexterously about Boston, and the friends he had seen there, and in describing to him the great Kingfisher ball.

Presently she was bonneted and cloaked, and the carriage was at the door.

Her home had not been a Paradise to Fanny Newt--nor were Aunt Dagon, Papa and Mamma Newt, and brother Abel altogether angels. She had no superfluous emotions of any kind at any time; but as she passed through the hall she saw her sister May--the youngest child--a girl of sixteen--Uncle Lawrence's favorite--standing upon the stairs.

She said nothing; the hall was quite dim, and as the girl stood in the half light her childlike, delicate beauty seemed to Fanny more striking than ever. If Uncle Lawrence had seen her at the moment he would have thought of Jacob's ladder and the angels ascending and descending.

"Good-by, May!" said Fanny, going up to her sister, taking her face between her hands and kissing her lips.

The sisters looked at each other, each inexplicably conscious that it was not an ordinary farewell.

"Good-by, darling!" said Fanny, kissing her again, and still holding her young, lovely face.

Touched and surprised by the unwonted tenderness of her sister's manner, May threw her arms around her neck and burst into tears.

"Oh! Fanny."

Fanny did not disengage the arms that clung about her, nor raise the young head that rested upon her shoulder. Perhaps she felt that somehow it was a benediction.

May raised her head at length, kissed Fanny gently upon the lips, smoothed her black hair for a moment with her delicate hand, half smiled through her tears as she thought that after this indication of affection she should have such a pleasant intercourse with her sister, and then pushed her softly away, saying,

"Mr. Dinks is waiting for you, Fanny."

Fanny said nothing, but drew her veil over her face, and Mr. Dinks handed her into the carriage.

CHAPTER XXXV.

MOTHER-IN-LAW AND DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.

Mrs. Dinks and Hope Wayne sat together in their lodgings, waiting impatiently for Alfred's return. They were both working busily, and said little to each other. Mrs. Dinks had resolved to leave New York at the earliest possible moment. She waited only to have a clear explanation with her son. Hope Wayne was also waiting for an explanation. She was painfully curious to know why Alfred Dinks had told his mother that they were engaged. As her Aunt Dinks looked at her, and saw how noble and lofty her beauty was, yet how simple and candid, she was more than ever angry with her, because she felt that it was impossible she should ever have loved Alfred.

They heard a carriage in the street. It stopped at the door. In a moment the sound of a footstep was audible.

"My dear, I wish to speak to Alfred alone. I hear his step," said Mrs.

Dinks.