"Why do you think I mean anything?" he said, staring at the ceiling. "Because I haven't heard it since that dreadful Monday, and before I always heard it when something nice had happened between me and--and--" "Some one told me last night to mind my own business." "Now, uncle, you know something." "I should hope so, at my years,--enough not to meddle." And he still stared high over her head. "There," said Lottie with tears in her eyes, "everybody in the house is against me now." The old man's eyes dropped to her flushed, disappointed face, and his features became almost noble in their expression of tender sympathy. In a grave, gentle tone, such as she never had heard him use before, he said, "Lottie, come to my private study, before you go." While the others were at lunch, she glided, unseen, to the little study, that she might receive some comfort to sustain her fainting heart. Her uncle's first words, however, seemed prosaic, indeed, and very different from what she had expected. "How old are you, Lottie?" "I was twenty-one last June," she said, a little proudly. "So you are a June blossom, eh? Well, you look like it." But he puzzled her by his long, searching glance into her face. "Why do you ask?" she said. "I want to be sure that you are old and mature enough to decide a very important question." "Well," said Lottie, her breath coming quick, "I intend to decide all questions which relate to my own life and well-being." "Be careful, young woman. You had better follow the advice of old and wise heads like your aunt's and mother's." "Uncle, what do you mean?" said she, impatiently. "Well," said Mr. Dimmerly, deliberately, looking searchingly into her face all the time, "I have sounded that thick-headed nephew of mine--there, you needn't start so: do you suppose a Dimmerly would betray a woman's secret?--and what do you think he most dreads to discover as true?--that you love him a little." "It's something he never shall discover," said Lottie, almost harshly, springing up with flashing eyes and scarlet face. "I will not go on this ride, and he shall have no trouble in escaping my society." "Hold on, now," expostulated Mr. Dimmerly. "Nitroglycerine doesn't go off half so quick as you of late. I haven't told you why he is afraid you love him." "What other reason can he have save that he doesn't love me, or thinks I am unfit to be a clergyman's wife?" "He has another reason,--one that will devolve upon you the necessity of deciding some very important questions. Are you old and mature enough?" "O uncle!" exclaimed Lottie, impatiently tapping the floor with her foot. "You ought to be made Grand Inquisitor General. You have kept me upon the rack of suspense--it seems an hour."