Mary had a great deal of Ned's happy nature in her, and between the two, what with sailing, and riding, and long strolls, George could not well help throwing off his despondency. The light soon came back to the eye, the color to the cheek, the spring to the step, the gaiety to the young heart, the belief that, after all, life was not such a bad thing, and that there were pleasant places even in this miserable world for those who sought them in the right spirit. "Your friend George is getting quite gay," remarked Mary one evening, as brother and sister sat alone, during the temporary absence of the subject of that young lady's remark. "Yes, poor fellow. He was in a sad way when I dropped on him. Going to the dev--I mean the grave, fast." "Why, what was the matter with him?" "Oh! I don't know. Put his foot in it somehow." "Put his foot in what?" "In the wrong box, of course. How stupid you women are!" "But what wrong box, Ned?" That gentleman looked ineffable disgust at his beautiful sister, whose eyes were fixed a little anxiously on his. Then taking the peachy cheeks between both hands, he drew her face up to his own and kissed her, saying, "There, Mary.... There are only two women in the world to whom I would do that.... You are one--" "And the other?" asked Mary, a little bewildered. "Is to come," answered Ned enigmatically. "It will take some time perhaps to find her. One makes a mistake sometimes among so many. When he does, he puts his foot in the wrong box." "And you think he--that is, Mr. Howard has quite recovered now?" asked Mary, after a pause. "Well, it looks as though he were very near it; but here he is to speak for himself," said Ned, as George half bounded into the room, flushed with exercise, and looking as handsome as any young lady could wish.