en remarked, in a decided way:

"Of course we cannot see any one. We are engaged."

By this time I heard the footsteps of Mary on her way from the
kitchen, and I very naturally passed quickly to the parlor door to
intercept and give her my instructions.

"Say that I'm engaged," was on my tongue. But, somehow or other, I
had not the courage to give these words utterance. The visitor might
be a person to whom such an excuse for not appearing would seem
unkind, or be an offence. In this uncertain state, my mind fell into
confusion. Mary was before me, and awaiting the direction she saw
that I was about giving.

"Say that I'm not at home, if any one asks to see me," came in a
sudden impulse from my lips.

And then my cheeks flushed to think that I had instructed my servant
to give utterance to a falsehood.

"Yes, mim," answered the girl, glancing into my face with a knowing
leer, that produced an instant sense of humiliation; and away she
went to do my bidding.

I did not glance towards Agnes, as I returned to my seat and took up
my work. I had not the courage to do this. That I had lowered myself
in her estimation, I felt certain. I heard the street door open, and
bent, involuntarily, in a listening attitude. The voice of a lady
uttered my name.

"She's not at home, mim," came distinctly on my ears, causing the
flush on my cheeks to become still deeper.

A murmur of voices followed. Then I heard the closing of the
vestibule door, and Mary returning to the back parlor where we were
sitting.

"Who was it, Mary?" I enquired, as the girl entered.

"Mrs.--Mrs.--Now what was it? Sure, and I've forgotten their names
intirely."

But, lack of memory did not long keep me in ignorance as to who were
my visitors, for, as ill luck would have it, they had bethought
themselves of some message they wished to leave, and, re-opening the
vestibule door, left a-jar by Mary, followed her along the passage
to the room they saw her enter. As they pushed open the door of the
parlor, Mary heard them, and, turning quickly, exclaimed, in
consternation--

"Och, murther!"

A moment she stood, confronting, in no very graceful attitude, a
couple of ladies, and then escaped to the kitchen.

Here was a scene of embarrassment. Not among all my acquaintances
were there, perhaps, two persons, whom I would have least desired to
witness in me such a fault as the one of which I had been guilty.
For a little while, I knew not what to say. I