“George is growing very restless. I don’t know what ails him,” Bessie said to me.

“I can guess,” I said, looking wise.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember what an uneasy, good-for-nothing chap one Charlie Travers was, when he first began to call on a certain young woman with conspicuous regularity?”

“O Charlie, you don’t think he—”

“No, no! Now don’t explode too suddenly. I wouldn’t have him know that I suspect anything for the world. We won’t name any names, but I keep my eyes about me, and I flatter myself I know the symptoms.”

And with these mysterious words, I started for the bank, leaving to Bessie a new and delightful subject for speculation and air-castle building.George did not come home to supper that day, but that was nothing extraordinary. I was sitting out on the porch, smoking after the meal, and saw him coming up the street.

“Where have you been?” I asked, as he joined me and took a seat.

“None of your business. In town.”

“Is Miss Van well?” I asked mischievously.

“How should I know?”

“Come, George, you don’t play the part of Innocence over well. Suppose you try Candor, and tell me where you have been.”

“You mistake my identity. I’m not your baby. You will find the youthful Charlie entertaining his mother up stairs.”

A long-drawn-out, agonized wail, proceeding from the regions above, showed how Bessie was being entertained.

“No opening yet?” I ventured to ask, changing the subject.

“Not the slightest prospect. If some of these doctors could only be inveigled into taking some of their own prescriptions! But no; they are too wise.”“The bitterness of your tone would seem to indicate that you have not enjoyed your visit to the town.”

“The town be hanged, and the country too! Let’s take a walk down the street. Give me a cigar, confound you! How hot it is!”

We strolled down the street.

“This is a terrible vale of tears, this world,” said I. “The world is hollow, and my doll is stuffed with sawdust, which accounts for his howling.”

George was silent. He pulled at his cigar ferociously, smoked it half up, threw it away, and replaced it by a cigarette.

“When a man throws away the best part of a Reina Victoria he is either flush or badly in love,” said I to myself. I waited patiently for him to speak, as I was perfectly willing to receive his confidence, but I didn’t have the chance. He maintained a loud silence all the way, and we walked back home as we had gone out.

“Something’s up—something serious,” I informed Bessie that night, “but George does not confide in me worth a cent, which I think is a little unbrotherly.”

The following day George was absent from an early hour in the afternoon till long after all the household were fast asleep at night. I was awakened at about midnight by a light tapping at the door of our room, and slipped out of bed without disturbing Bessie or the baby.

“Come up to my den!” whispered George, as I opened the door. “Don’t wake the others.”

I quietly got into my clothes and crawled noiselessly up to George’s “den,” devoured by curiosity. The moment I caught sight of his handsome face I saw that it was all right with him, and that he had nothing but good news to tell me. We sat down, hoisted our heels to a comfortable altitude, and George told his story. I let him tell it himself here:—

“I was feeling terribly blue yesterday, when you saw me,” he began, “as you could see. In the afternoon I went into town, and, according to a previous arrangement, hired a horse and buggy and called to take her out riding.”

(Of course “her” was Miss Van.)“We had agreed to take the old Linwood road, and follow it to the village, returning through the Maplewood Park and so getting back to the city at about six. We left the town and passed through the suburbs rapidly, until we struck into the country, and there I let the horse go his own pace, which was slow. So much the better. Miss Van Duzen was never more charming. We had the most agreeable bit of talk, and she drew me out till I amazed myself. She always does. It’s no use my telling you, Charlie, but I have been a fool in my love for her ever since the night she came into this cottage like a stray beam of sunshine on a cloudy day. My heart went out of my keeping the night she called here with the old gentleman. I believe it was her freshness, her moral purity, that acted on my morbid, half blasÉ spirit, like a tonic, and brought me on my feet. I’m talking random nonsense, you say, but why shouldn’t I? I’m drunk with love. Don’t laugh at me. I’ll be all right by daylight, except a headache. We got to talking about ourselves. Lovers always do, don’t they? You ought to know. There doesn’t seem to be much else in the world worth talking about. I told her all about myself,—my past, with its good and bad points, and my present hopes and purposes. It all popped out as naturally as possible. I suppose it would sound like drivel if I were to repeat it. Finally she began to laugh.

“‘It is dangerous to make a woman your confidant,’ she said. ‘How do you know that I can keep a secret better than any other of my sex?’

“‘I am not afraid on that score,’ said I. ‘This is my confessional. It is as sacred as any. Am I to receive absolution?’

“She could not fully promise that. She read me a neat little lecture. It was fascinating to thus receive correction at her hands. I pledged myself, when it was done, to follow the course laid out for me. Then I made bold to exchange rÔles. With some maidenly hesitation, which soon vanished, she in turn laid before me the inner history of her life. Ah, my boy, how little there was in it to gloss over! how much to humiliate the best and noblest of us men! It was a revelation that made me prostrate myself before her. I was not worthy to hear it.”George paused, and drummed on the table with his fingers nervously.

“I may as well tell you all,” he resumed. “I had resolved to ask that girl to marry me when we started on our ride, but after what she said to me so simply and modestly, I positively could not do it. She expected me to speak, I know that, for she would not have told me what she did tell me, otherwise.”

“So you didn’t speak? Oh, stupid, stupid boy!”

“I know it. But my tongue was tied. Perhaps it was all cowardice; I can’t say. I never was afraid of any one before. I came home utterly shattered and down-hearted. To-day I gravitated back to her, after a sleepless night. She received me with the same friendly smile as usual, but there seemed to be a slight shadow over her spirits. That little, almost imperceptible change filled me with joy. I jumped to a conclusion that intoxicated me, and made the plunge at once.

“‘It is another case of the moth and the candle,’ I said to her.“‘Thank you. So I am a candle? That is a fine figure of speech.’

“‘Seriously speaking, I think we had not finished what we were talking of yesterday.’

“‘What were we talking of yesterday?’ she had the effrontery to ask. ‘Oh, yes, now I recollect. It was yourself. That subject, I fear, you will never finish talking of.’

“‘Now that’s a very mean speech, all things considered,’ I whined. ‘Do you want to strike a man, when he’s way down?’

“‘Don’t play Uriah Heep. I hate ’umble people. But if I have perchance pierced the thick epidermis of Parisian pride you have so long worn, I’m glad of it.’

“She likes to abuse me, and I enjoy it quite as well as she. She continued to scold me and mock me for some time, to disguise her actual mood. I saw through it, and let her have her way for a while. The meeker my replies, the greater the exaggerated harshness of her criticisms. At last I no longer attempted to reply at all. Leaning back in a corner of the sofa, I watched the play of her animated features and the light of her dark brown eyes, and felt that she was the one woman in the universe that suited me, the one woman I could respect and love passionately at the same time.

“‘You say truly I am a coward. I am aware of that. I admit that I am all that is detestable. If such a wretch as you describe were to love a woman, what unhappiness for him! There could be no hope for him. He would know his own irredeemable unworthiness, and so could only slink away in shame.’

“‘You are quite right,’ she cried, laughing merrily. ‘That would be the only course for him to pursue.’

“‘By the way,’ I said, ‘that reminds me that my train goes out in twenty minutes.’

“I rose, and she also stood up to accompany me to the door. I held out my hand. It was an unusual demonstration, and perhaps she thought it meant good-by in earnest. At least, as she put her hand in mine, I detected a look I had never before seen in the depths of those fine eyes. With a sudden, unpremeditated, and irresistible movement, I drew her close to me, folded my arms about her, and kissed her passionately.“‘Clara!’ I whispered, ‘I love you! I love you! Don’t tell me to go.’

“She gently drew herself out of my reluctant arms, and though her eyes were misty now, I saw in them that I was to stay.

“That’s all the story I have to tell you, Charlie. I am too happy to-night to sleep, so I couldn’t let you sleep. I stayed and spent the evening. Mr. Desmond, bless his dear old heart! cried over Clara, and gave her an old-fashioned blessing. I walked home on air. Do I look very badly corned?”

I gave him a rousing hand-shake, and wiped away a stray bit of moisture from my cheek.

“May I tell Bessie?” were my first words when I found my tongue.

“Why not? There will be no long engagement in this case. The knot shall be tied as soon as possible.”

The announcement I made to my little wife the following morning was not entirely unexpected, yet it filled her with delight. Miss Van was the woman of all others that Bessie wished to have George marry. The arrangement was, therefore, completely to her satisfaction, and she beamed upon the happy George with true sisterly affection.

What effect would the news have upon Mrs. Pinkerton? I asked myself. I had not long to wait for an answer, for it was at the breakfast-table that George fired the shot.

“Mother,” said the bold youth, “I’m going to be married.”

His mother abruptly stopped stirring her coffee, and her spine visibly stiffened, but she said nothing.

“The event will occur without delay. Of course it is useless to inform you who is the—”

“Quite useless,” Mrs. Pinkerton broke in; “my wishes in the matter are not of the slightest consequence to you.”

“On the contrary. Now, look here; don’t be so infernally quick to anticipate my wilfulness. I want to conform to your wishes if I can. Que faire?”

“We will talk about it after breakfast.”

Accordingly, there was a serious passage-at-arms in the library after breakfast. George left the house a conqueror, but the conquered had no sort of intention of abandoning the campaign after a Bull Run defeat. In fact, war had only just been declared. It must not be supposed that it was a war the movements of which could be followed by the acutest military observer; the batteries were all masked, but the gunpowder was there. I felt confident that George would carry everything before him, and he did. He brought Miss Van over to spend the evening, and we had the pleasantest time imaginable. He would not allow his mother to say a word against Miss Van, and made a fair show of proving that the latter had, not only better blood, but also better breeding and a truer sense of propriety than my mother-in-law, that is, “when it came to the scratch,” as George said. “But who would give a snap for a young woman who can’t throw aside the shackles of conventionality once in a while, and be herself?”

Miss Van was her own jolliest, sweetest self at this time. Her beauty had never been so noticeable: joy is an excellent cosmetic, and love paints far better than rouge or powder.As soon as Mrs. Pinkerton had recovered from her defeat, and when the engagement had become an acknowledged fact which all the world might know, the wedding began to loom up before us, and I could not help wondering if St. Thomas’s Church was to be the scene of as fashionable and grand a display as on the occasion when Bessie and myself were made one.

I felt reasonably certain that Mrs. Pinkerton would make an effort to that end, and I was curious to see how George would look on it.

Bessie, I think, would have been glad to see the marriage take place with as much pomp and show as possible. She was intensely interested in what Clara should wear, and every visit from that young woman was the occasion for a vast deal of confidential and no doubt highly important tÊte-À-tÊte consultation.

Mother-in-law sailed into the library one evening with unusual celerity of movement.

“George, dear,” she said, “this cannot be true! You would not permit such an eccentric, uncivilized proceeding. Surely you will not offend our friends by—”“Avast there! Our friends be hanged!” cried George wickedly. “Yes, it’s true, too true. The ceremony will be private, and no cards. You can come, though! Next Wednesday, at two o’clock, sharp!”

This was cruel. I could see his mother almost stagger under the blow. She attempted to remonstrate, but it was too late. George assured her that “it was all fixed,” and that Clara had agreed with him regarding the details.

“Honest old John Stephens will tie the knot,” said he, “and it will be just as tight as if Dr. McCanon manipulated the holy bonds. I trust we shall have the pleasure of your company, mother. Consider yourself invited. A few of the choicest spirits will be on hand. Clara will wear the most exquisite gray travelling suit you ever laid eyes on.”

The widow was flanked, outgeneralled, routed along the whole line. She brought forward all her reserve forces of good-breeding, and thus escaped a disastrous panic by retiring in good order.

The ceremony occurred, as George had announced, the following Wednesday. The near relatives and best friends of the young couple were present, and it was a quiet and thoroughly enjoyable affair for all who participated. An hour after they had been pronounced man and wife, George and his bride rode away to take the train for the mountains.