“You dear little thing,” said Agnes, suddenly putting her arm about Lucia and pressing her closely as a mother might seize a baby, “what we were talking of was you. Can’t you understand, now, why I enjoyed it so much?” There was a tremor and a convulsive movement within the older woman’s arm, and Lucia seemed to be crying. “Darling little girl,” murmured Agnes, kissing the top of Lucia’s head; “I ought to be killed for teasing you, even for a moment, but how could you be jealous of me? Your lover has been a great deal more appreciative: he has done me the honor to make me his confidante, and again I say it was delightful.” “I’m awfully mean,” sobbed Lucia. “Stop crying--at once,” whispered Agnes. “How will your eyes look? Oh, Lu, what a lucky girl you are!” “For crying?” said Lucia, after a little choke. “For having such a man to adore you. Why, he thinks no such woman ever walked the earth before. He worships the floor you tread, the air you breathe, the rustle of your dress, the bend of your little finger, the----” The list of adorable qualities might have been prolonged had not a little arm suddenly encircled Miss Dinon’s waist so tightly that further utterance was suspended. Then Lucia murmured,-- “The silly fellow! I’m not half good enough for him.” “Do you really think so?” “Indeed I do; I do, really.” “I’m so glad to hear you say so,” said the older girl, “for, honestly, Lu, Mr. Hayn has so much head and heart that he deserves the best woman alive.” “It’s such a comfort to be told so!” murmured the younger girl. “One would suppose you had doubted it, and needed to be assured,” said Agnes, with a quizzical smile. “Oh, no! ’twasn’t that,” said Lucia, hurriedly. “How could you think of such a thing? But---- Oh, Agnes, you can’t understand, not having been in love yourself.” Miss Dinon looked grave for an instant, but was quickly herself again, and replied, with a laugh, and a pinch bestowed upon the tip of Lucia’s little ear,-- “True; true. What depths of ignorance we poor old maids are obliged to grope in!” “Now, Agnes!” pleaded Lucia. “You know I didn’t mean to be offensive. All I meant was that you--that I---- Oh, I think he’s all goodness and sense and brightness and everything that’s nice, but--and so, I mean, I like to hear about it from everybody. I want to hear him talked of all the while; and you won’t think me silly for it, will you? Because he really deserves it. I don’t believe there’s his equal on the face of the earth!” “I’ve heard other girls talk that way about their lovers,” said Agnes, “and I’ve been obliged to hope their eyes might never be opened; but about the young man who is so fond of you I don’t differ with you in the least. He ought to marry the very best woman alive.” “Don’t say that, or I shall become jealous again. He ought to find some one like you; while I’m nothing in the world but a well-meaning little goose.”