“I not only thought of it,” said Goward, “but I was. It was at the Abercrombies', Mr. Price. Lily--that is to say, Aunt Elizabeth--” “Excuse me, Mr. Goward,” I interrupted. “As yet the lady is not your Aunt Elizabeth, and the way things look now I have my doubts if she ever is your Aunt Elizabeth.” “Miss Talbert, then,” said Goward, with a heart-rending sigh. “Miss Talbert and I were guests at the Abercrombies' last October--maybe she's told you--and on Hallowe'en we had a party--apple-bobbing and the mirror trick and all that, and somehow or other Miss Talbert and I were thrown together a great deal, and before I really knew how, or why, we--well, we became engaged for--for the week, anyhow.” “I see,” said I, dryly. “You played the farce for a limited engagement.” “We joked about it a great deal, and I--well, I got into the spirit of it--one must at house-parties, you know,” said Goward, deprecatingly. “I suppose so,” said I. “I got into the spirit of it, and Miss Talbert christened me Young Lochinvar, Junior,” Goward went on, “and I did my best to live up to the title. Then at the end of the week I was suddenly called home, and I didn't have any chance to see Miss Talbert alone before leaving, and--well, the engagement wasn't broken off. That's all. I never saw her again until I came here to meet the family. I didn't know she was Peggy's aunt.” “So that in reality you WERE engaged to both Peggy and Miss Talbert at the same time,” I suggested. “That much seems to be admitted.” “I suppose so,” groaned Goward. “But not seriously engaged, Mr. Price. I didn't suppose she would think it was serious--just a lark--but when she appeared that night and fixed me with her eye I suddenly realized what had happened.” “It was another case of 'the woman tempted me and I did eat,' was it, Goward?” I asked. Goward's pale face Hushed, and he turned angrily. “I haven't said anything of the sort,” he retorted. “Of all the unmanly, sneaking excuses that ever were offered for wrong-doing, that first of Adam's has never been beaten.” “You evidently don't think that Adam was a gentleman,” I put in, with a feeling of relief at the boy's attitude toward my suggestion. “Not according to my standards,” he said, with warmth. “Well,” I ventured, “he hadn't had many opportunities, Adam hadn't. His outlook was rather provincial, and his associations not broadening. You wouldn't have been much better yourself brought up in a zoo. Nevertheless, I don't think myself that he toed the mark as straight as he might have.” “He was a coward,” said Goward, with a positiveness born of conviction. And with that remark Goward took his place in my affections. Whatever the degree of his seeming offence, he was at least a gentleman himself, and his unwillingness to place any part of the blame for his conduct upon Aunt Elizabeth showed me that he was not a cad, and I began to feel pretty confident that some reasonable way out of our troubles was looming into sight.