esitated at the harsh word.

"I'm afraid you expected him to be a philosopher. Haven't you been
kind to him?"

"Why, of course."

"Systematically kind?"

"Why, of course."

"Did you have any motive?"

"You know I had no motive--aren't you ashamed!"

"But did you expect him to be genius enough to understand that?
Did you suppose that he could understand such a thing as kindness
without a motive? Don't be harsh with him, Anna, don't be hard on
him: he is an ordinary man and judged you by the ordinary standard.
You broke your alabaster box at his feet, and he secretly suspected
that you were working for something more valuable than the box of
ointment. The world is full of people who are kind without a
motive; but few of those to whom they are kind believe this."

Before Miss Anna fell asleep that night, she had resolved to tell
Harriet. Every proposal of marriage is known at least to three
people. The distinction in Miss Anna's conduct was not in telling,
but in not telling until she had actually been asked.

Two mornings later Ambrose was again walking through his hall.
There is one compensation for us all in the large miseries of
life--we no longer feel the little ones. His experience in his
suit for Miss Anna's hand already seemed a trifle to Ambrose, who
had grown used to bearing worse things from womankind. Miss Anna
was not the only woman in the world, he averred, by way of swift
indemnification. Indeed, in the very act of deciding upon her, he
had been thinking of some one else. The road of life had divided
equally before him: he had chosen Miss Anna as a traveller chooses
the right fork; the left fork remained and he was now preparing to
follow that: it led to Miss Harriet Crane.

As Ambrose now paced his hallway, revolving certain details
connected with his next venture and adventure, the noise of an
approaching carriage fell upon his ear, and going to the front door
he recognized the brougham of Mrs. Conyers. But it was Miss
Harriet Crane who leaned forward at the window and bowed smilingly
to him as he hurried out.

"How do you do, Mr. Webb?" she said, putting out her hand and
shaking his cordially, at the same time giving him a glance of
new-born interest. "You know I have been threatening to come out
for a long time. I must owe you an enormous bill for pasturage,"
she picked up her purse as she spoke, "and I have come to pay my
debts. And then I wish to see my calf," and she looke