the man who
kisses and tells.

You must know, then, that within the boundaries of this city there are
two ladies, a mother and a daughter, whom I shall call Mrs. and Miss
Laura Andrews. They are patients of the governor's, and have become
to some extent friends of the family. Madame is Welsh, charming
in appearance, dignified in her manners, and High Church in her
convictions. The daughter is rather taller than the mother, but
otherwise they are strikingly alike. The mother is thirty-six and
the daughter eighteen. Both are exceedingly charming. Had I to choose
between them, I think, entre nous, that the mother would have attracted
me most, for I am thoroughly of Balzac's opinion as to the woman of
thirty. However, fate was to will it otherwise.

It was the coming home from a dance which first brought Laura and
me together. You know how easily and suddenly these things happen,
beginning in playful teasing and ending in something a little warmer
than friendship. You squeeze the slender arm which is passed through
yours, you venture to take the little gloved hand, you say good night
at absurd length in the shadow of the door. It is innocent and very
interesting, love trying his wings in a first little flutter. He will
keep his sustained flight later on, the better for the practice. There
was never any question of engagements between us, nor any suggestion of
harm. She knew that I was a poor devil with neither means nor prospects,
and I knew that her mother's will was her law, and that her course
was already marked out for her. However, we exchanged our little
confidences, and met occasionally by appointment, and tried to make our
lives brighter without darkening those of any one else. I can see you
shake your head here and growl, like the comfortable married man that
you are, that such relations are very dangerous. So they are, my boy:
but neither of us cared, she out of innocence and I out of recklessness,
for from the beginning all the fault in the matter was mine.

Well, matters were in this state when one day last week a note came up
to the Dad saying that Mrs. Andrews' servant was ill, and would he come
at once. The old man had a touch of gout, so I donned my professional
coat and sallied forth, thinking that perhaps I might combine pleasure
with business, and have a few words with Laura. Sure enough, as I passed
up the gravel drive which curves round to the door, I glanced through
the drawing-room window, and saw