Redbud rose, smiling, and with the gentle simplicity of one child to another, said: "Oh! you ought not to have said that about cousin Lavinia, Verty--ought you?" Verty looked guilty. "I don't think I ought," he said. "You know she is very sensitive about this." "Anan?" Verty said, smiling. Redbud looked gently at the young man, and replied: "I mean, she does not like any one to speak of it?" "Why?" said Verty. "Because--because--engaged people are so funny!" And Redbud's silver laughter followed the words. "Are they?" Verty said. "Yes, indeed." Verty nodded. "Next time I will be more thoughtful," he said; "but I think I ought to have answered honestly." Redbud shook her curls with a charming little expression of affected displeasure. "Oh, no! no!" "Not answer?" "Certainly not, sir--fie! in the cause of ladies!" Verty laughed. "I understand," he said, "you are thinking of the books about the knights--the old Froissart, yonder, in four volumes. But you know there were'nt any courts in those days, and knights were not obliged to answer." Redbud, training up a drooping vine, replied, laughing: "Oh, no--I was only jesting. Don't mind my nonsense. Look at that pretty morning-glory." Verty looked at Redbud, as if she were the object in question. "You will hurt your hand," he said,--"those thorns on the briar are so sharp; take care!" And Verty grasped the vine, and, no doubt, accidentally, Redbud's hand with it. "Now I have it," he said; and suddenly seeing the double meaning of his words, the young man added, with a blush and a smile, "it is all I want in the world." "What? the--oh!" And Miss Redbud, suddenly aware of Mr. Verty's meaning, finds her voice rather unsafe, and her cheeks covered with blushes. But with the tact of a grown woman, she applies herself to the defeat of her knight; and, turning away, says, as easily as possible: "Oh, yes--the thorn; it is a pretty vine; take care, or it will hurt your hand." Verty feels astounded at his own boldness, but says, with his dreamy Indian smile: "Oh, no, I don't want the thorn--the rose!--the rose!" Redbud understands that this is only a paraphrase--after the Indian fashion--for her own name, and blushes again. "We--were--speaking of cousin Lavinia," she says, hesitatingly. Verty sighs. "Yes," he returns. Redbud smiles. "And I was scolding you for replying to papa's question," she adds. Verty sighs again, and says: "I believe you were right; I don't think I could have told them what we were talking about." "Why?" asks the young girl. "We were talking about you," says Verty, gazing at Redbud tenderly; "and you will think me very foolish," adds Verty, with a tremor in his voice; "but I was asking Mr. Roundjacket if he thought you could--love--me--O, Redbud--" Verty is interrupted by the appearance of Miss Lavinia. Redbud turns away, blushing, and overwhelmed with confusion. Miss Lavinia comes to the young man, and holds out her hand.