“Hush, Mamie,” said Mrs. Livingstone, slightly shocked; and the old gentleman looked at his daughter with a meek astonishment, as is so often the way with contemporary parents. Charlie had been invited in acknowledgment of his kindness to Arthur. “Mr. Townley,” said Mr. Livingstone in a quavering voice, “is a very old friend of mine, in whom I have always had the greatest confidence. I have yet to make the acquaintance of his young--connection.” “They say he waltzes like an angel,” said Mamie the irrepressible; and just then the door-bell rang, and the subject of their conversation appeared, with his usual irreproachable exterior. Arthur had never seen him so subdued; he sat next to Miss Mamie, but treated her quite _du haut en bas_, talking much to Mr. Livingstone. Arthur could see that he was on his best behavior; and his best behavior was extremely unobjectionable, though he came very near being caught in the middle of some airy personality when Mr. Livingstone inaugurated the meal by saying grace. After tea was over, Miss Mamie manœuvred Charlie into a remote corner, where he seemed to find her more worthy his attention. The evening was very quiet; Mr. Livingstone gravely reading some review, and addressing from time to time a solitary remark to his wife, who sat with her hands folded, placidly. Gracie talked to Arthur of himself, and our hero told her of all that had happened since he came to New York. Her life had, of course, been a quiet one, divided between books, her music, and charitable occupations. In all these Miss Brevier had encouraged and assisted her; Gracie spoke very warmly of her, her intelligence and character. This was after Miss Brevier, in the other room, had begun reading aloud to the old couple, in a low and sweet, but very clearly modulated voice. “When can I come next?” said Arthur to Gracie as they rose to go. There was a sweetness in her presence that had won his heart a thousand times again; she seemed a rarer being, in this peopled city; he adored her. “You must not come often, dear Arthur--my aunt thinks it better for us both. She thinks that we are both too young, and that you must try a year or two in society to make sure that you really care for me--and I for you,” she added, in a tone hardly audible. Arthur’s only answer was to press her hand; and so they parted. When they got into the street, Townley lit a large cigar, with a slight sigh of relief. “Lively little girl, that Miss Livingstone,” said he; “but I say, old man, what an evening! No wonder she wants to come out.” “I am sorry you found it slow,” said Arthur, testily. “Oh, well, I know it’s devilish respectable and all that sort of thing,” said Charlie. “Good middle-class domestic life; they’re just like our grandfathers, and our grandfathers were nothing but _bourgeois_ after all; that little girl will sink all that, or I’m mistaken. Come round by Sixth Avenue a minute, will you?”