and felt of
the man.

"I presume," said May Newt, loftily, "that Hope Wayne would be as likely
to marry Aaron Burr as Abel Newt."

Mrs. Dagon looked at her kindly, and with amused admiration.

"Well, May, at any rate I congratulate Gabriel Bennet."

May's lofty look drooped.

"And if"--continued Mrs. Dagon--"if it was so wonderfully impossible
that Abel should marry Hope Wayne, why might he not have married Grace
Plumer, or some other rich girl? I'm sure I don't care who. It was
evidently the only thing for _him_, whatever it may be for other people.
When you are of my age, May, you will rate things differently. Well-bred
men and women in society ought to be able to marry any body. Society
isn't heaven, and it's silly to behave as if it were. Your romance is
very pretty, dear; we all have it when we are young, as we have the
measles and the whooping-cough. But we get robust constitutions, my
dear," said the old lady, smiling kindly, "when we have been through
all that business. When you and Gabriel have half a dozen children,
and your girls grow up to be married, you'll understand all about it.
I suppose you know about Mellish Whitloe and Laura Magot, don't you,
dear?"

May shook her head negatively.

"Well, they are people who were wise early. Just after they were married
he said to her, 'Laura, I see that you are fond of this new dance which
is coming in; you like to waltz.' 'Yes, I do,' said she. 'Well, I don't
like it, and I don't want you to waltz.' She pouted and cried, and called
him a tyrant. He hummed Yankee Doodle. 'I _will_ waltz,' said she at
length. 'Very well, my dear,' he answered. 'I'll make a bargain with
you. If you waltz, I'll get drunk.' You see it works perfectly. They
respect each other, and each does as the other wishes. I hope you'll be
as wise with Gabriel, my dear."

"Aunt, I hope I shall never be as old as you are," said May, quietly.
"I'd rather die."

Mrs. Dagon laughed her laugh. "That's right, dear, stand by your colors.
You're all safe. Gabriel is Lawrence's partner. You can afford to be
romantic, dear."

As she spoke the door opened, and Abel entered. His dress was disordered,
his face was flushed, and his manner excited. He ran up to May and kissed
her. She recoiled from the unaccustomed caress, and both she and Mrs.
Dagon perceived in his appearance and manner, as well as in the odor
which presently filled the room, that Abel was intoxicated.

"May, darling," he began in