d the other, imperiously, "you wish to ask
me to marry you. I desire to spare you the pain of my answer to that
question by preventing your asking it."

Mr. Wetherley was confounded. He wrinkled his brows doubtfully a
moment--he stared at the floor and at Miss Newt--he looked foolish and
mortified. "But--but--but--" stammered he. "Well--but--why--but--haven't
you somehow answered the question?" inquired he, with gleams of doubtful
intelligence shooting across his face.

Fanny Newt smiled icily.

"As you please," said she.

Poor Zephyr was bewildered.

"It is very confusing, somehow, Miss Newt, isn't it?" said he, wiping his
face.

"Yes, Mr. Wetherley; one should always look before he leaps."

"Yes, yes; oh, indeed, yes. A man had better look out, or--"

"Or he'll catch a Tartar!" said a clear, strange voice.

Fanny Newt and Wetherley turned simultaneously toward the speaker. It
was a young man, with clustering black hair and sparkling eyes, in a
traveling dress. He stood in the back room, which he had entered through
the conservatory.

"Abel!" said his sister, running toward him, and pulling him forward.

"Mr. Wetherley, this is my brother, Mr. Abel Newt."

The young men bowed.

"Oh, indeed!" said Zephyr. "How'd he come here listening?"

"Chance, chance, Mr. Wetherley. I have just returned from school. Pretty
tough old school-boy, hey? Well, it's all the grandpa's doing. Grandpas
are extraordinary beings, Mr. Wetherley. Now there was--"

"Oh, indeed! Really, I must go. Good-morning, Miss Newt. Good-morning,
Sir." And Mr. Zephyr Wetherley departed.

The brother and sister laughed.

"Sensible fellow," said Abel; "he flies the grandpas."

"How did you come here, you wretch!" asked Fanny, "listening to my
secrets?"

"My dear, I arrived this morning, only half an hour ago. I let myself
in by my pass-key, and, hearing voices in the parlor, I went round by the
conservatory to spy out the land. Then and there I beheld this spectacle.
Fanny, you're wonderful."

Miss Newt made a demure courtesy.

"So you've really come home for good? Well, Abel, I'm glad. Now you're
here I shall have a man of my own to attend me next winter. And there's
to be the handsome Boston bride here, you know, next season."

"Who is she?" said Abel, laughing, sinking into a chair. "Mother wrote
me you said that all Boston girls are dowdy. Who is the dowdy of next
winter?"

"Mrs. Alfred Dinks," replied Fanny, carelessly, but lo