charming mixture, and insured for her auditors the success of the entertainment. When she had retired, amid a mimic storm of applause from the two gentlemen, Roger solemnly addressed his cousin. “Well, what do you think of her? I hope you have no fault to find with her feet.” “I have had no observation of her feet,” said Hubert; “but she will have very handsome hands. She is a very nice creature.” Roger sat lounging in his chair with his hands in his pockets, his chin on his breast, and a heavy gaze fixed on Hubert. The latter was struck with his deeply preoccupied aspect. “But let us talk of you rather than of Nora,” he said. “I have been waiting for a chance to tell you that you look very poorly.” “Nora or I,—it’s all one. She is the only thing in life I care for.” Hubert was startled by the sombre energy of his tone. The old polished, placid Roger was in abeyance. “My dear fellow,” he said, “you are altogether wrong. Live for yourself. You may be sure she will do as much. You take it too hard.” “Yes, I take it too hard. It troubles me.” “What’s the matter? Is she a naughty child? Is she more than you bargained for?” Roger sat gazing at him in silence, with the same grave eye. He began to suspect Nora had turned out a losing investment. “Has she—a—low tastes?” he went on. “Surely not with that sweet face!” Roger started to his feet impatiently. “Don’t misunderstand me!” he cried. “I have been longing to see some one,—to talk,—to get some advice,—some sympathy. I am fretting myself away.” “Good heavens, man, give her a thousand dollars and send her back to her family. You have educated her.” “Her family! She has no family! She’s the loneliest as well as the sweetest, wisest, best of creatures! If she were only a tenth as good, I should be a happier man. I can’t think of parting with her; not for all I possess.” Hubert stared a moment. “Why, you are in love.” “Yes,” said Roger, blushing. “I am in love.” “Dear me!” murmured Hubert. “I am not ashamed of it,” rejoined Roger, softly. It was no business of Hubert’s, certainly; but he felt the least bit disappointed. “Well,” he said coolly, “why don’t you marry her?” “It is not so simple as that!” “She will not have you?” Roger frowned impatiently. “Reflect a moment. You pretend to be a man of delicacy.” “You mean she is too young? Nonsense. If you are sure of her, the younger the better.” “For my unutterable misery,” said Roger, “I have a conscience. I wish to leave her free and take the risk. I wish to be just and let the matter work itself out. You may think me absurd, but I wish to be loved for myself, as other men are loved.”