me good. I shall go with
Captain Pendle to the station. Make your adieux, young people, while I
put on my bonnet and cloak.'

When Miss Whichello left the room, Mab, who had been admiring her ring
during the foregoing conversation, was so impressed with its quaint
beauty that she again thanked George for having given it to her. This
piece of politeness led to an exhibition of tenderness on the part of
the departing lover, and during the dragon's absence this foolish young
couple talked the charming nonsense which people in their condition
particularly affect. Realism is a very good thing in its own way, but to
set down an actual love conversation would be carrying it to excess.
Only the exaggerated exaltation of mind attendant on love-making can
enable lovers to endure the transcendentalism with which they bore one
another. And then the look which makes an arrow of the most trifling
phrase, the caress which gives the merest glance a most eloquent
meaning--how can prosaic pen and ink and paper report these fittingly?
The sympathetic reader must guess what George and Mab said to one
another. He must fancy how they said it, and he or she must see in his
or her mind's eye how young and beautiful and glowing they looked when
Miss Whichello, as the prose of their poetry, walked into the room. The
dear old lady smiled approvingly when she saw their bright faces, for
she too had lived in Arcady, although the envious gods had turned her
out of it long since.

'Now, Captain Pendle, when you have done talking nonsense with that
child I'm ready.'

'Do call me George, Miss Whichello,' entreated the captain.

'No, sir; not until your father gives this engagement his episcopalian
blessing. No nonsense. Come along.'

But Miss Whichello's bark was worse than her bite, for she discreetly
left the room, so that the love-birds could take a tender leave of each
other, and Captain Pendle found her standing on the steps outside with a
broad smile on her face.

'You are sure you have not forgotten your gloves, Captain Pendle?' she
asked smilingly.

'No,' replied George, innocently, 'I have them with me.'

'Oh!' exclaimed Miss Whichello, marching down the steps like a toy
soldier, 'in my youth young men in your condition _always_ forgot their
gloves.'

'By Jove! I have left something behind me, though.'

'Your heart, probably. Never mind, it is in safe keeping. None of your
tricks, sir. Come, come!' and Miss Whichello marched the