It would be a mistake to suppose that either Edith or Jack put their relations in any such definite shape as this. He was unthinking. She was too high-spirited, too confident of her position, to be assailed by such fears. And it must be said, since she was a woman, that she had the consciousness of power which goes along with the possession of loveliness and keen wit. Those who knew her best knew that under her serenity was a gay temperament, inherited from the original settlers of Manhattan, an abounding enjoyment of life, and capacity for passion. It was early discovered in her childhood that little Edith had a will of her own. Lent was over. It was the time of the twittering of sparrows, of the opening of windows, of putting in order the little sentimental spots called “squares,” where the poor children get their idea of forests, and the rich renew their faint recollections of innocence and country life; when the hawkers go about the streets, and the hand-organs celebrate the return of spring and the possibility of love. Even the idle felt that it was a time for relaxation and quiet. “Have you answered Miss Tavish's invitation?” asked Jack one morning at the breakfast-table. “Not yet. I shall decline today for myself.” “Why? It's for charity.” “Well, my charity extends to Miss Tavish. I don't want to see her dance.” “That leaves me in a nice hole. I said I'd go.” “And why not? You go to a good many places you don't take me--the clubs, brokers' offices, Stalker's, the Conventional, and--” “Oh, go on. Why do you object to my going to see this dance?” “My dear Jack,” said Edith, “I haven't objected the least in the world;” and her animated face sparkled with a smile, which seemed to irritate Jack more than a frown would have done. “I don't see why you set yourself up. I'll bet Miss Tavish will raise more money for the Baxter Street Guild, yes, and do more good, than you and the priest and that woman doctor slopping about on the East Side in six months.” “Very likely,” replied Edith, still with the same good-humored smile. “But, Jack, it's delightful to see your philanthropic spirit stirred up in this way. You ought to be encouraged. Why don't you join Miss Tavish in this charity? I have no doubt that if it was advertised that Miss Tavish and Mr. Jack Delancy would dance for the benefit of an East Side guild in the biggest hall in the city, there wouldn't be standing room.” “Oh, bosh!” said Jack, getting up from his chair and striding about the room, with more irritation than he had ever shown to Edith before. “I wouldn't be a prude.” Edith's eyes flashed and her face flushed, but her smile came back in a moment, and she was serene again. “Come here, Jack. Now, old fellow, look me straight in the eyes, and tell me if you would like to have me dance the serpentine dance before a drawing-room full of gossiping women, with, as you say, just a few men peeping in at the doors.”