After a while she told him that she did not love him, but he did not seem to believe her, and she could think of no way of proving it after what had happened. Then she assured him that she had always planned to spend her life in writing and study, and that it was impossible for her to marry him. But he declared that there were no end of writers in the world and absolutely but one woman who could be his wife, so that he did not think her decision just or warranted. And then he went over to her very tenderly and asked her if she really cared more for her musty books and a “brilliant career” (Stanhope was careful to use the word “career”) than she did for a man who loved her so devoutly that he would willingly lay down his life for her? At this Miss Hungerford cried a little, and he put her head on his shoulder while she thought about it. While they were thus engaged the clock struck five and the servant appeared punctually with tea-things. He was much confused when he caught sight of them, and Miss Hungerford privately determined to speak to the man for his officiousness. The wedding was very brilliant and Miss Hungerford’s “most intimate friend” was maid of honor. She never told the bride, but she told everyone else, “that she had never expected Eva Hungerford to marry and give up her career, but that she was thankful it had happened, and she was sure she would be happy!” In the meantime Daly’s is without the curtain-raiser. REVENGE Miss Atterbury put the paper she was reading carefully and slowly down upon the table. It was the _Boston ---- _, and there was a long article upon the first page marked ostentatiously around with a blue lead-pencil, and headed in glaring letters, “Athletics in Girls’ Colleges.” There was a dangerous gleam in Miss Atterbury’s dark-gray eyes, and she seemed a trifle more than her ordinary five feet eight inches as she drew herself up and turned, with that careful repression of irritation which always denotes the extreme limit of self-control, upon an inoffensive freshman, comfortably installed in the window-seat, playing a mandolin. “I was in Antwerp two weeks last summer,” she remarked, with careful emphasis, “and I heard the cathedral chimes play ‘La Mandolinata’ twice every five minutes, I think. I would be obliged if you would play something else, or even stop altogether for a while--I have something important to talk about just now.” The freshman stuck her pick guiltily in the strings, and shifted her position upon the cushions into one of extreme and flattering attention, while the four girls who had been playing whist over in a corner turned hastily around toward Miss Atterbury.