"Oh, most certainly," she replied. "It was all very well for Edward and Marian to wander through the woods together when they were boys and girls; but now propriety, you know, Colonel Manners, requires a sedate and aged chaperon; and besides, I could not leave the party of such an odd and unfortunate number as three: I should be afraid of some accident happening to you by the way." "But three is a fortunate number, my gay cousin," replied De Vaux, smiling, "not an unfortunate one, by every rule of cabalistic science." "In figures, but not in love, Edward," answered his cousin, with a gay laugh. "At least, I have read as much in your face, more than once, when I happened to be the unfortunate third--" "Hush, hush, Isadore," cried Marian. "Come, let us dress ourselves to go;" and taking her cousin's arm, she hurried her away. Now Marian de Vaux, who knew her cousin well, was quite sure that Isadore would not push her raillery of her lover one step too far; but still she was not sorry to break off Isadore's discourse; for love is one of those things that people may talk about a great deal when they feel it not, but which they bury deep in the heart's innermost tabernacle as soon as they know its value, and, like misers, tremble even when their treasure is named. Every one was soon ready to set out; and strolling through the garden separately, they proceeded to what was called the little gate, which gave them exit upon the road of which they were in search. By separately, I mean that neither of the gentlemen offered an arm to their female companions so long as they were within rows of box-wood bordering and upon gravel walks. There would have been something ridiculous in it; although, perhaps, the quality of walking arm-in-arm is to be looked upon as one of the peculiar privileges of humanity, which as much distinguishes man from other animals, as any other quality of his mind or body. He has been called, by those who strove to define him, "a forked radish, fantastically cut," "a viviparous biped, without feathers," "a cooking animal," and many another name. But had they called him "the animal that walks arm-in-arm," philosophers might have come nearer to his distinctive quality; for not only is it a thing that no other animal does, but it also gives at once the idea of many of the finer qualities of man's mind, and is, in fact, a sort of living hieroglyphic of affection and sympathy, and mutual assistance and support.