Lucy Burton surely was a beauty. Small wonder that the Dunlap men, old and young, loved her long before Walter Burton came to win her. She looked so pretty as she asked the last question that her grandfather held out his hands and said: “Come here, my dear, and kiss me. I forgive you if you have been an exacting ruler.” When Lucy settled herself on the arm of his chair as some graceful bird of gay plumage perches itself on a twig, the fine old face was filled with tenderness and love as he kissed her. Lucy passed her soft white arm around her grandfather’s neck, and resting her dimpled cheek on his snowy head, she said seriously: “That is not all of my reason for disliking the ‘Eyrie.’ You know, grandfather, I should not discuss my husband with any one other than yourself, so this is a secret; I have noticed that whenever Walter makes an all-night visit to the ‘Eyrie’ that the trip is preceded by an outburst of unusual hilarity on his part; in fact, on such occasions I am almost annoyed by something nearly undignified in Walter’s demeanor; he seems as thoughtless as a child, says and does things that are ridiculous and silly.” “Tut, tut, child, you have a very vivid imagination, and are so anxious for everyone to regard your husband with the exaggerated admiration that you have for him, that you are allowing yourself to become hypercritic, my pet,” rejoined Mr. Dunlap reassuringly. “No, grandfather, you are mistaken. I not alone notice something peculiar about Walter’s periodical outbursts of unseemly mirth; I see others regard with surprise this departure from his customary reposeful dignity,” insisted the young wife earnestly with a note of indignation in her voice when speaking of others observing any thing strange in the conduct of her husband. “Oh! nonsense, Lucy, all young men occasionally cast aside dignity. In the fullness of youth and vigor they become now and again fairly exuberant with happiness and forget all about the conventionalities of society. I have seen nothing about Walter in that particular different from other young men. Don’t make yourself wretched over nothing, little girl.” “Possibly I observe my husband with more attention than anyone else, even than you, grandfather, for I certainly perceive a great differentiation between Walter’s spasmodic mirth and similar exhibitions by other men. Walter seems different in many ways that mystify me. On every occasion that he remains all night at the ‘Eyrie,’ after a display of this extraordinary and boyish merriment, he returns home the next day with broad dark circles around his eyes, and is in a most depressed state of spirits,” said the young wife, with real anxiety revealed in the tone of her voice.