times
think first of herself. Charlotte was very generous; but her father's
next words brought dimples into very prominent play in each cheek.

"My darling, Jasper thinks me very cruel to postpone your marriage. I
will not postpone it. You and Hinton may fix the day. I will take that
brief of his on trust."

No woman likes an indefinite engagement, and Charlotte was not the
exception to prove this rule.

"Dearest father," she said, "I am very happy at this. I will tell John.
He is coming over this morning. But you know my conditions? No wedding
day for me unless my father agrees to live with me afterwards."

"Settle it as you please, dear child. I don't think there would be much
sunshine left for me if you were away from me. And now I suppose you
will be very busy. You have _carte blanche_ for the trousseau, but your
book? will you have time to write it, Charlotte? And that young woman
whom I saw in your room yesterday, is she the amanuensis whom you told
me about?"

"She is the lady whom I hoped to have secured, father, but she is not
coming."

"Not coming! I rather liked her look, she seemed quite a lady. Did you
offer her too small remuneration? Not that that would be your way, but
you do not perhaps know what such labor is worth."

"It was not that, dear father. I offered her what she herself considered
a very handsome sum. It was not that. She is very poor; very, very poor
and she has three little children. I never saw such a hungry look in any
eyes as she had, when she spoke of what money would be to her. But she
gave me a reason--a reason which I am not at liberty to tell to you,
which makes it impossible for her to come here."

Charlotte's cheeks were burning now, and something in her tone caused
her father to gaze at her attentively. It was not his way, however, to
press for any confidence not voluntarily offered. He rose from his seat
with a slight sigh.

"Well, dear," he said, "you must look for some one else. We can't talk
over matters to-night. Ask Hinton to stay and dine. There; I must be
off, I am very late as it is."

Mr. Harman kissed his daughter and she went out as usual to button on
his great-coat and see him down the street. She had performed this
office for him ever since--a little mite of four years old--she had
tried to take her dead mother's place. The child, the growing girl, the
young woman, had all in turns stood on those steps, and watched that
figure walking away. But never un