If Mrs. Long had thought us abstracted before, I don't know what she thought now. We scarcely spoke unless she addressed us, and then we made answers as wide of the mark as a boy's first shots. Only once Lilly roused to interest: Mrs. Long was speaking of the old French families of New Orleans, and Lilly said, "Oh, Mrs. Long, did you ever hear of the Gardines?" "Yes, indeed," said the lady: "they're one of the oldest and best families. Vera Gardine is quite a belle in society, and Clement is a fine young man. He does not fritter away his time, as so many young men do, but works away like a good fellow at his plantation up on the Bayou Teche." Lilly and I stole a look at each other. How we should have electrified good Mrs. Long had we told her all we knew about poor Clement Gardine! We went back to Galveston, feeling that a whole world of experience had opened to us since we left it. We were not the same girls, and never could be again. Lilly flew into a passion when she found Uncle David wearing one of "C. G.'s" sacred shirts, and insisted that they should be done up at once in a parcel ready to send to Miss Gardine. "I am determined to have them both come over and make us a visit," she said confidentially to me. We had not been forbidden to tell the story at home, but while Aunt Nanny and Maum' Hepsey listened very sympathetically. Uncle David laughed a good deal, and said, "She's going to write to you, is she? Well, show me the letter when it comes." We waited long for that letter, and at last it came; and when we had read it we knew exactly how a man might feel upon whom a rock fell out of a clear sky--that is, if he had time to feel anything. Here is the letter: