And, having thus got fairly launched, Burleigh recalled his lines, which he had faithfully committed, and went smoothly on to the end. Flossy had occasionally to direct his actions, for he fixed his attention so firmly upon the words, that his tendency was to repeat them like a parrot; but between them they came through safe. And, as Flossy had once jokingly predicted, her friend's awkwardness passed for clever acting, so that his success was so great as to astonish every one, particularly himself. CHAPTER XXIX. NIGHT-SCENES. Miss Sturtevant's summer visit to Montfield usually ended with September, but this year she had remained for the theatricals. That she did not carry Tom Putnam's heart as a trophy of her summer's campaign was certainly no fault of hers. As she walked home from the exhibition, leaning upon his arm, she taxed him with his want of attention. "I have scarcely seen you for the summer," she said. "You have been very sparing of your calls." "I confess my remissness, but I have so little time." "You might at least," Flora said, "have come to thank me for my hint about the Samoset and Brookfield. Almost everybody else sold out." "To your gain," he returned. He had little respect for the woman beside him, and was annoyed at her intrusion. "I thought I answered your note," he continued. "I certainly intended doing so." "Oh, you did!" Miss Sturtevant said, leaning upon his arm more heavily. "But a note is a poor substitute for a call from one to whom one is attached." "I hope," the lawyer observed briskly, determined not to be drawn into a scene, "that you have sold out. I see by the morning paper that the vote has been reconsidered, and the Branch is not to be bought, after all: I suspected it would be so, all the time. The whole thing was only the work of speculators, and I hope you were as lucky as I in getting rid of your paper at the flood." "What!" cried his companion,--"reconsidered? You do not mean that the Branch isn't to be bought? Uncle Jacob promised"-- "The Branch certainly is not to be bought," Putnam repeated. "The corporation has no use for it, and never had. You haven't held your stock?" "I have," she answered, pressing her thin lips together. "I am completely beggared. Good-night. I must have time to think." "I wish I had known," Tom said, standing upon the step below her; for they had reached the Browns' door. "I supposed you knew all about the stock." "I thought I did," she answered in a strained, thin voice. "It seems I was mistaken. Good-night." She went in, and the door closed behind her. Tom walked home, kicking his boot-toes out against every pebble, divided between disapproval and pity.