"Fact. Well, I'll tell you: Claudine Perry-Morton was by you." "Well, what of that, sir?" "And I felt as if I dared not come near in case of an accident." "An accident, Harry! What, to the gas? Oh fie! what a silly old joke; you mean her hair would set it alight." "No, I don't; I don't mind red hair. After yours, it's the prettiest there is." "Don't stoop to compliments, sir. Now tell me why you were afraid of an accident?" "Why I feel sure that some time or other she'll come undone. Look at her dress. I wouldn't be there for the world." "Harry!" There was a very genuine blush as she looked at him reproachfully; but her face softened directly as he whispered in such a low, earnest tone that it thrilled her once more-- "Forgive me, darling, it was too bad, I know; there, we won't talk about ourselves, I only want to be near you. Let me take you down to supper." "Would you like to?" "Yes." "Very much?" "Darling!" What wonderful emphasis an engaged couple can put into their words. Evidently that last noun uttered by the young fellow opened out a vista of future bliss to Cynthia, who answered him with a look which was a perfect bond in its way, engrossed in parchment, sealed, signed, witnessed, endorsed, and tied with dark-green silk in proper legal style. "I haven't been to dear Julie yet," he said. "What a shame! Go at once, sir." "No, no; don't send me away at present." "Well, you must go presently, Harry," she said, softly; "I'm so glad you are fond of Julie." "Bless her! I love her very much," he said. "She's the dearest, sweetest, sisterly little body I ever met. I always feel as if I should like to kiss her when I shake hands, and her pretty little lips seem to look up to one so naturally. Cynthy, darling, I often wished I had a sister, and--and now I'm to have one, am I not?" "I don't know--perhaps," she said, looking down. "I told Magnus one day I wished I had a sister for his sake. Thank goodness the song's done. Let's clap our hands, for joy." They clapped their hands, as did every one else, but of course not for joy. "I like Mr Magnus," said Cynthia, thoughtfully. "He's the best and truest-hearted fellow in the world," cried Artingale, enthusiastically. "And if you had had a sister, what then, sir?" "I should have made old Magnus marry her." "Indeed, my lord bashaw! And suppose the lady did not approve?" "But she would approve. No really sensible girl would refuse Magnus, if she came to thoroughly know him." There was silence here, during which a very-pale gentleman with a very large aquiline nose, which seemed to be his feature, the rest of his face merely representing base or pedestal, threw his long black hair behind his ears, and recited a portion of one of Rosetti's poems. "Harry," said Cynthia then, "go and see Julie now." "Must I?" "Please. Poor girl, she is so unhappy; I'm in great trouble about her." "Poor darling!" he replied.