Charley hurried along the upper hall, and arriving at the head of the stairs, blew his nose three times with a certain fierce defiance. This strictly commonplace operation he repeated in a subdued form as he neared the dining-room door, and stopping again, with one hand upon the knob, he passed the other again and again across his forehead and eyes, as though he had been an antiquated belle who would smooth out the wrinkles before entering a ball-room. Then, with that severe look of determined reticence of which I have spoken above, he entered the dining-room; exciting in all breasts, male and female alike, a keen but hopeless curiosity. This feeling, however, soon subsided; for the Don had entered shortly after Charley, and, begging Mrs. Carter to excuse his tardiness, had taken his seat and passed out of our minds. For besides that the dinner was good and the wine generous, most of us had our own little interests to look after. Jones, for example, and Jones’s girl were too happy to care whether any one in the world were late or early for dinner. My grandfather, Mrs. Carter, and myself were sufficiently occupied as hosts,—and Charley, too, though he devoted his time principally to one guest. As a matter of fact, therefore, during the early part of the dinner the Don sat unobserved by the greater part of the company; and but for one faithful pair of eyes, I should have had nothing to record. In the spirit of mischief, Alice had so manœuvred that the seat left vacant for the Don was between Lucy and little Laura. “Won’t it be sweet, mother, to see all three of them in a row,—Lucy—Mr. Don Miff—Laura? Quite a little family party!” “Very well,” replied Lucy, laughing, “arrange it as you will; I am sure I should like very well to sit by ‘the Don.’ Do you still call him by that name?” “Of course. It has a grand sound, and grand sounds, you know, are precious to the female heart.” The Don’s looks when he entered were downcast, his manner hesitating, and his voice, when he made his apologies to Mrs. Carter, scarcely audible. Charley, the moment the Don entered, had begun stammering away at Alice with a surprising volubility, and in a voice loud for him. He never stammered worse; and such a pother did he make with his m’s and his p’s that he drew upon himself the smiling attention of all the company; so that even Jones and his girl ceased murmuring, for a moment, their fatuous nothings. It was under cover of this rattling volley that the Don had taken his seat and begun intently to examine the monogram on his fork. “Will you have some soup?” asked Charley, in a frank, off-hand way. The commonplace nature of this question was an obvious relief to the Don, and he raised his eyes and looked about him. “Thanks, no soup. What!” said he, for the first time espying little Laura seated by his side, “you here by me!” And taking her sunny head between his hands, he bent over and kissed her on the forehead.