ve with the married pair. "It's the only proper thing," he
remarked, as if it were quite settled. Has it come to this, then, that
Mr. Sloane actually wants to turn him out of the house? The shameless
old villain! He keeps smiling an uncanny smile, which means, as I read
it, that if the poor young man once departs he shall never return on the
old footing--for all his impudence!

20th.--This morning, at breakfast, we had a terrific scene. A letter
arrives for Theodore; he opens it, turns white and red, frowns, falters,
and then informs us that the clever widow has broken off her engagement.
No wedding, therefore, and no departure for Theodore. The _bonhomme_ was
furious. In his fury he took the liberty of calling poor Mrs. Parker
(the sister) a very uncivil name. Theodore rebuked him, with perfect
good taste, and kept his temper.

"If my opinions don't suit you, Mr. Lisle," the old man broke out, "and
my mode of expressing them displeases you, you know you can easily
protect yourself."

"My dear Mr. Sloane," said Theodore, "your opinions, as a general thing,
interest me deeply, and have never ceased to act beneficially upon the
formation of my own. Your mode of expressing them is always brilliant,
and I wouldn't for the world, after all our pleasant intercourse,
separate from you in bitterness. Only, I repeat, your qualification of
my sister's conduct is perfectly uncalled for. If you knew her, you
would be the first to admit it."

There was something in Theodore's look and manner, as he said these
words, which puzzled me all the morning. After dinner, finding myself
alone with him, I told him I was glad he was not obliged to go away. He
looked at me with the mysterious smile I have mentioned, thanked me, and
fell into meditation. As this bescribbled chronicle is the record of my
follies as well of my _hauts faits_, I needn't hesitate to say that for
a moment I was a good deal vexed. What business has this angel of candor
to deal in signs and portents, to look unutterable things? What right
has he to do so with me especially, in whom he has always professed an
absolute confidence? Just as I was about to cry out, "Come, my dear
fellow, this affectation of mystery has lasted quite long enough--favor
me at last with the result of your cogitations!"--as I was on the point
of thus expressing my impatience of his ominous behavior, the oracle at
last addressed itself to utterance.

"You see, my dear Max," he said, "I can't,