getting her dread of seeing people
in her desire to get away from that room, because for the first time
in her life she wasn't at ease with Jack.

"I think I like the little gray moth better than the fine butterfly,"
returned Jack, who, in spite of his invitation, seemed to find
"moping" rather pleasant.

"You are a rainy-day friend, and he isn't," said Kitty, softly, as she
drew him away.

Jack's only answer was to lay his hand on the little white glove
resting so confidingly on his arm, and, keeping it there, they roamed
away into the summer twilight.

Something had happened to the evening and the place, for both seemed
suddenly endowed with uncommon beauty and interest. The dingy old
houses might have been fairy palaces, for anything they saw to the
contrary; the dusty walks, the trampled grass, were regular Elysian
fields to them, and the music was the music of the spheres, though
they found themselves "Right in the middle of the boom, jing, jing."
For both had made a little discovery,--no, not a little one, the
greatest and sweetest man and woman can make. In the sharp twinge of
jealousy which the sight of Kitty's flirtation with Fletcher gave him,
and the delight he found in her after conduct, Jack discovered how
much he loved her. In the shame, gratitude, and half sweet, half
bitter emotion that filled her heart, Kitty felt that to her Jack
would never be "only cousin Jack" any more. All the vanity, coquetry,
selfishness, and ill-temper of the day seemed magnified to heinous
sins, for now her only thought was, "seeing these faults, he _can't_
care for me. Oh, I wish I was a better girl!"

She did not say "for his sake," but in the new humility, the ardent
wish to be all that a woman should be, little Kitty proved how true
her love was, and might have said with Portia,--

"For myself alone, I would not be
Ambitious in my wish; but, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair,
Ten thousand times more rich."

All about them other pairs were wandering under the patriarchal elms,
enjoying music, starlight, balmy winds, and all the luxuries of the
season. If the band had played

"Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream--"

it is my private opinion that it would have suited the audience to
a T. Being principally composed of elderly gentlemen with large
families, they had not that fine sense of the fitness of things so
charming to see, a