"Not in bed yet?" she whispered, and looked at the small white kneeling figure of the younger girl, her hair hanging in a dusky mass of waves and curls and tangles upon her back. Deleah was hurrying conscientiously through the established form of her orisons, trying to achieve the prescribed sum of her supplications before her mother left. "Can I speak to you for a minute, mama?" Bess demanded, with an air of importance. "Not here," glancing at Deleah; "outside; just a minute." "Pray God bless dear papa and mama, sister and brothers, and friends. Make us all good and bring us safe to heaven at last. Amen," Deleah gabbled, her face upon the white quilt, her ears open. "Certainly, dear." Mrs. Day stepped back, closing the door behind her daughter and herself. "I don't want Deda to know. She's such a blab, mama." "Oh, my dear, I don't like to hear you say that!" "But she is. And she listens to things." Here Bessie pushed the door behind her open, to reveal the culprit in her white nightgown on the other side of it. "I should be ashamed to be a Paul Pry!" Bessie said with indignation and scorn. Deleah was not at all abashed. "Mama, I don't see why, when nice, interesting things happen, I should not know them as well as Bessie!" she complained. She was sent to bed, however, and tucked up there, and kissed, and enjoined by an indulgent, reproving mother to be a good girl, and to go quietly to sleep. What mother could be angry with Deleah, looking at her rose and white face amid the tumult of tossed dark curls upon her pillow! Then Bessie led her mother into an unoccupied room, hard by, upon the landing, and began to unfold her tale. "Mama, it is about Reggie." The room was only lit by the flame of the candle Mrs. Day held, but there was light enough to show the blushes on Bessie's young plump cheeks. "Mama, he has said something about _that_ again. _You_ know." "About his being engaged to you?" Bessie, cheeks and eyes aglow and alight, ecstatically nodded; her fair bosom in its garniture of white tulle and forget-me-nots, rose and fell. "What two pretty daughters I have!" Mrs. Day said to herself, and, being a devout woman, gave thanks accordingly. "Well, dear, and what did you say?" "I said--I don't know what I said, mama. We were dancing that last galop--the Orlando Furioso one, you know--and the room was so full, and other couples were rushing down upon us--people are so horribly selfish when they dance, and some of them dance so boisterously." "It would be a very nice engagement for you, Bessie. I suppose there was not a girl here to-night who would not gladly take him." "I know that. I know that, mama. So does he--Reggie." "He did not say so, I hope?" "No. Reggie does not always want exactly to _say_ things." "But what did he say to you, dear? Is the matter any forwarder than it was the last time you spoke of it to me?" "Well, I suppose so, mama." "You mean you and Reggie Forcus consider yourselves engaged?"