"Not exactly," he answered, cheerfully bowing over the gloved hand she extended with frank sweetness--"only thinking; our life is too short for moping." She might have added: "I myself must mix with action Lest I wither by despair." "Are you busy?" glancing, as he offered her a seat, at the table littered with books and papers. "Not at all; I am at your service," he replied. "I want to talk to you; but--excuse me--your office looks so gloomy--makes me _blue_," she shivered a little. "Is your mother quite well?" "Quite well--thanks. Will you not go up and see her?--or shall I bring her down?" "Thanks--neither, I believe. I saw her a day or two since, and I am come on business now. Captain Clendenon, is it quite _comme il faut_ for a lady to ask you to take a drive? If so, my phaeton is at your service. I want to ask you something; I cannot here. Some of your tiresome clients may disturb me." The soft appealing eyes and voice work their will with this infatuated man. If she had asked him to lie down under the hoofs of her cream-white ponies and be trampled on, I fear he would have done it. A man's love for a woman sometimes rises above its ordinary ridiculousness into the sublimity of pathos, and how little it is for him to consent to sit by her side and hear those magical tones, perhaps give some advice to that ever restless young spirit. He calls his office boy, takes his hat, and goes. Presently they are rolling over one of Norfolk's handsome drives, and censorious people, looking from their windows, exchange opinions that Mrs. Winans is "rather fast." "Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun." "I have been over to Portsmouth this morning," she says, in the midst of their small talk. "It is rather a nice little jaunt over there on the ferry-boat over the Elizabeth River--don't you think so?" "Yes, I do think so; had you a nice time?" "I don't know--yes, I suppose so. I visited some friends, and we went down and saw the beautiful grounds of the Naval Hospital--what a handsome building it is! The pride of Portsmouth. And what romantic grounds! I sat there a long time and looked at the sea." To what is all this idle chatter leading, he wonders, seeing perfectly well with what consummate art she is leading the subject whither she wants it to go. "We were all talking of that dreadful fever at Memphis," she resumes, constrainedly. "What swift progress it is making! The newspaper accounts of it are just terrible--heart-rending, indeed; and they are so fearfully in need of nurses and money. I have sent them a small sum--a mere 'drop in the ocean.'" "So have I," he answers, white to the lips. He knows what is coming. She gives him a flitting glance, fanning herself energetically the while. A useless proceeding, for the sea-breeze, that flutters her fair curls like golden banners, is simply delicious.