Then her face would change in quick and piquant transition to the expression of equally comic distress, as she sighed, "But, alas! where am I? Right under his big thumb, whether he knows it or not. How it all will end I dare not think." When her jewelled watch indicated that the time for dinner or supper was near, she would make the most bewitching of toilets, and laugh at herself for doing so, querying, "What is the use of conquering one over and over again who is already helpless at your feet?" And yet the admiration of Hemstead's beauty-loving eyes was sweeter incense than all the flattery she had ever received before. And what hours of dainty, ethereal banqueting were those prosaic meals in Mrs. Marchmont's dining-room! The corpulent colored waiter served the others, but airy-winged love attended these two, bearing from one to the other glances, tones, accents, of the divinest flavor. De Forrest noted and chafed over this subtile interchange. Bel and Mrs. Marchmont saw it also, and Mr. Dimmerly's queer chuckling laugh was heard with increasing frequency. But what could be done? Lottie's and Hemstead's actions were propriety itself. Mrs. Marchmont could not say, "You must not look at or speak to each other." As well seek to prevent two clouds in a summer sky from exchanging their lightnings! Hemstead was in a maze. The past and the future had lost their existence to him, and he was living in the glorified present. He no more coolly realized the situation than would one in an ecstatic trance. In one sense he verified the popular superstition, and was bewitched; and, with the charming witch ever near to weave a new spell a dozen times a day, how could he disentangle himself? He was too innocent, too unhackneyed, to understand what was going on in his own heart. The days and the hours fled away until Saturday--the day before Christmas--came. By noon Hemstead had finished his sermon, and Lottie had completed her mysterious fancy-work; and both were ready for the festivities of Christmas eve. Mr. Dimmerly was a great stickler for the old English customs, and always had the yule-log brought in with great ceremony. With his own hands he suspended the mistletoe from the chandelier in the hall, which he always obtained from Dimmerly Manor in England. Lottie, without thinking, stood beneath, watching him, when, with a spryness not in keeping with his years, he sprang down and gave her a sounding smack in honor of the ancient custom. "There," said he, "that pays me for all my trouble and expense. But you will get another kiss here, that you will like better, before I take the mistletoe down." "Well, uncle," said Lottie, laughing and rubbing her tingling cheek, "I hope it won't be such an explosion as yours was, or it will alarm the household." "Be careful, or it may attract more attention than mine"; and he departed with his queer chuckling laugh.