nah, and March as the Edito'; but it appeared that this was
only a convenient method of recognizing the predominant quality in each,
and was meant neither to affirm nor to deny anything. Colonel Woodburn
offered as his contribution to the celebration of the copartnership,
which Fulkerson could not be prevented from dedicating with a little
dinner, the story of Fulkerson's magnanimous behavior in regard to
Dryfoos at that crucial moment when it was a question whether he should
give up Dryfoos or give up March. Fulkerson winced at it; but Mrs. March
told her husband that now, whatever happened, she should never have any
misgivings of Fulkerson again; and she asked him if he did not think he
ought to apologize to him for the doubts with which he had once inspired
her. March said that he did not think so.

The Fulkersons spent the summer at a seaside hotel in easy reach of the
city; but they returned early to Mrs. Leighton's, with whom they are to
board till spring, when they are going to fit up Fulkerson's bachelor
apartment for housekeeping. Mrs. March, with her Boston scruple, thinks
it will be odd, living over the 'Every Other Week' offices; but there
will be a separate street entrance to the apartment; and besides, in New
York you may do anything.

The future of the Leightons promises no immediate change. Kendricks
goes there a good deal to see the Fulkersons, and Mrs. Fulkerson says he
comes to see Alma. He has seemed taken with her ever since he first
met her at Dryfoos's, the day of Lindau's funeral, and though Fulkerson
objects to dating a fancy of that kind from an occasion of that kind,
he justly argues with March that there can be no harm in it, and that we
are liable to be struck by lightning any time. In the mean while there
is no proof that Alma returns Kendricks's interest, if he feels any.
She has got a little bit of color into the fall exhibition; but the fall
exhibition is never so good as the spring exhibition. Wetmore is rather
sorry she has succeeded in this, though he promoted her success. He says
her real hope is in black and white, and it is a pity for her to lose
sight of her original aim of drawing for illustration.

News has come from Paris of the engagement of Christine Dryfoos.
There the Dryfooses met with the success denied them in New York; many
American plutocrats must await their apotheosis in Europe, where society
has them, as it were, in a translation. Shortly after their arrival they
w