The return of our Jason and Medea from the Argo was very different from their departure for that fateful craft, if their going had been operatic, their coming was elegiac. A salvo of salutations was preparing as they approached, and the Gallery watched the couple as they drew near, momentarily expecting some outburst of jollity on their part; but expectancy slowly faded as their nearer and nearer approach brought into ever clearer view the faces of the Argonaut and the Enchantress. I have called the Don a man of surprises. What had he been saying to Alice? thought every one as she tripped up the piazza steps with an effort to appear jaunty and careless; but her cheeks showed splotches of burning red, while his features were pale and set. What had happened? I cannot say what others thought, but I happen to have learned since what flashed across Mary’s mind. The Don had proposed to Alice and Alice had rejected him, had declined his _first_ proposal merely, for of course she could not have meant to reject him for good and all. What passed her comprehension was how Alice had had the hardihood to propose a walk which she must have known was to have that result. She was amazed to think how blind she had been all along. How could she have failed to remark what was patent to all, that the Don hung upon every word that fell from Alice’s lips? I happen to know, too, what Charley thought: “_She_ tackled him! What a girl! what a girl! Bless her little heart!” “Well, Alice,” said my grandfather, “you know the rule.” Alice looked up. “Whenever any of my girls have had a trip on the Argo—” “Oh,” said Alice, “we kiss you on our return.” And she suited action to word. “I accept the amendment, but that is not what I meant. Give an account of yourself. What luck?” Alice’s face grew serene under the old-time courtesy of my grandfather’s manner, and she was herself again. “You will have to excuse me, Uncle Tom. A girl who has been properly brought up cannot fail to feel that there _are_ occasions when her mother is her only proper confidant.” Even the Don laughed at this, and the hard lines passed out of his face. He looked at Alice with an expression of admiring amusement, seeing how easily she had laughed away the awkward pause that their return had caused. When Mary, poor tempest-tossed soul, saw that admiring glance, she stamped her foot, though inaudibly,—stamped it with vexation, and inwardly begged Alice’s pardon; for it was not the glance of a lover, rejected or other.