When two young women are closeted in their bedchamber after a pleasant day, and preparing for repose, then is the time for the interchange of sacred confidences. The events of the last few hours are touched upon with significant emphasis, the gentlemen are discussed and judged, and their personal peculiarities and excellencies commented upon with approval or otherwise. However quiet, demure, and comparatively unobservant the young ladies may have been, depend upon it not the smallest detail of the gentlemen's dress and manners has escaped their penetrating eyes. Especially is this the case upon the occasion of the introduction of a new male acquaintance. Everything appertaining to him is recalled, from the parting of his hair to the tying of his shoestrings. It would much astonish him to hear the pretty girls (all girls are pretty in their spring-time), who seemed to scarcely have courage to glance at him, speak of the colour of his eyes, of the cut of his clothes, of the quality of his moustache, of the size of his hands and feet, and the shape of his finger-nails. No learned judge in his summing up was ever so precise and correct, and the beauty or the despair of it is that these gossiping damsels are not only judges but juries, from whose verdict there is absolutely no appeal. Of course such sacred confidences are all the more interesting when the subjects for dissection are young unmarried men. Many such conversations had Phoebe and Fanny held, and now, according to their wont, they proceeded to discuss the incidents of the evening, as they made their preparations for bed. "I have often thought it a pity," said Phoebe, "that Mr. Kiss is not married." "It _is_ a pity," assented Fanny; "he is so good-natured and jolly that he deserves a good wife." "And so clever," remarked Phoebe. "And so good-looking. Phoebe, depend upon it, he has been crossed in love." Phoebe sighed, and Fanny echoed the sigh. To these young hearts the very idea of being crossed in love was terribly sad. "I _do_ hope Mr. Linton's play will be a success," said Fanny, after a little pause. "Isn't it wonderful how a person can think of it all?" "It is certain to be a success," said Phoebe, taking the last hair-pin out of her beautiful hair, which fell in waves over her shoulders. Fanny gazed at her admiringly, and a charming picture indeed did the young girl present at that moment. "If I envy you anything, Phoebe," said Fanny, "it is your hair. No one would think you had half as much." "That's because it's so fine," said Phoebe, with a pleased smile. "It's as fine as the finest silk," said Fanny, lifting bunches of it, and giving her cousin a quick affectionate kiss. "But you mustn't think I really envy you, Phoebe." "I don't. I would change with you if I could." "No, you wouldn't; no, you wouldn't," cried Fanny, with a merry laugh, "any more than I would with you." "I am sure your hair is lovely, Fanny."