sentimental--and stay," she concluded, with some feeling. (And indeed Dean's Highgate _was_ a quiet, dull place; Lower-Minter-on-the-Mavern, also.) Presently, the old fellow broke down and wept, and then _Marna_, repelled, eyeing him as if he were something odd and decidedly contemptible, said firmly ... "Nasty little beast!" cried Charles Garrott, aloud. He leapt from Judge Blenso's easy-chair, and glared about like one desirous of something to kick, and that right quickly. Then, with a flashing understanding of his need, he went springing toward the Studio window. And passionately he flung the window wide, and passionately he hurled the best-selling book in America forth into the winter night. "Faugh!" shouted Charles. Down in dark Mason Street, the shooting "Marna" struck the limb of a large tree, and caroming violently, bounded back against a passing old gentleman in a black felt hat, who looked like a Confederate veteran. The old 'un, starting with annoyance, clapped a hand to his shoulder, and gazed round and up; then, suddenly catching sight of the young man standing at the third-story window, he shouted something in a high angry voice, and brandished an aged arm with menace. But the young man merely continued to stand there, silently scowling down at him. So then the old gentleman, composing himself but resolved that he should not be smitten for nothing, picked up Miss Angela Flower's new book from the sidewalk before him, dusted it carefully with an experienced handkerchief, and hobbled away with it into the darkness. "Disgusting little Egoette!" said Charles, scowling after him.... "And that's the sort of stuff that passes for _thinking_ nowadays! That's the stuff our women are reading, forming their--" "Who're you cussing out the window, Charlie?" said Donald Manford's hearty voice behind him. Charles wheeled sharply. He resented being walked in on this way; resented all companionship from his kind just now; in especial, he resented Donald Manford's contented, care-free face. At the same time, this face of Donald's awakened other and different emotions, relative to the slim hope it embodied, and enjoining tact, some cunning. So, controlling himself, Charles merely said: "Well? What're you horning in here for?" "Dying for one glimpse of your sweet phiz. Nice welcome!" laughed the young engineer, exuberantly. "But how'd you ever get into a street-row, Charlie, out of your third-story window?" "Oh!... Just talking to myself. Bad habit of mine," he said, with an effort. "You're rather flossy to-night!--out to give the girls a treat, I gather. Let's see. German, I suppose?" Laying his tall hat tenderly on the Judge's little typewriter-table, Donald acknowledged the soft impeachment. "Well, who's the lucky lady, this time?--Or maybe you're stagging?" "Who, me? Not on your life! I've got Miss Carson again--lucky thing!" "Indeed," said the author, coldly.