lear-sighted not to see it.
He thought, quite impartially, that perhaps it was an excusable
weakness, even though it was his own society that was the counter
attraction. They were two nice-looking girls. This was how he put it,
being no longer young, and father to one of them; naturally, the two
young men would have described the attraction of Phoebe and Ursula more
warmly. Clarence Copperhead, who had come in with an armful of music and
his fiddle, was not thinking of the girls, nor of anything but the sweet
sounds he was about to make--and himself. When he began to tune his
violin, Mr. May got up in dismay.

"This is more than mortal can stand," he said, making as though he would
have gone away. Then he changed his mind, for, after all, he was the
chaperon of his motherless girl. "Get me the paper, Ursula," he said. It
would be hard to tell with what feelings Northcote contemplated him. He
was the father of Ursula, yet he dared to order her about, to bring the
tears to her eyes. Northcote darted the same way as she was going, and
caught at the paper on a side-table, and brought it hastily. But alas,
that was last week's paper! he did not save her the trouble, but he
brought upon himself a gleam of mischief from her father's eyes. "Mr.
Northcote thinks me a tyrant to send you for the paper," he said, as he
took it out of her hands. "Thank him for his consideration. But he was
not always so careful of your peace of mind," he added, with a laugh.

Ursula looked at him with a wondering question in her eyes; but those
tears were no longer there which had gone to Northcote's heart.

"I don't know what papa means," she said, softly; and then, "I want to
beg your pardon, please. I was very silly. Will you try to forget it,
and not tell any one, Mr. Northcote? The truth was, I thought I had done
them nicely, and I was vexed. It was very childish," she said, shaking
her head with something of the same moisture floating back over the
lustre in her pretty eyes.

"I will never tell any one, you may be sure," said the young man; but
Ursula did not notice that he declined to give the other pledge, for
Reginald came up just then with wrath in his eyes.

"Is that idiot going to fiddle all night?" he cried (poor Clarence had
scarcely begun); "as if anybody wanted to hear him and his tweedle-dees.
Miss Beecham plays like St. Cecilia, Ursula; and I want to speak to her
about something. Can't you get that brute beguiled away?"

Clar