the Congressman.

Mr. Palma was pressing Mrs. St. Clare to take more wine, and appeared
deaf to the conversation, but Mrs. Carew's flute-like voice
responded:

"Yes, a certain order of talent for mere landscape painting; but he
should never attempt a higher or different style. He made a wretched
copy of the Crucifixion for a wealthy retired tailor, who boasts of
his investments in 'virtue and bigotry;' and I fear I gave mortal
offence by venturing to say to the owner, that it reminded me of the
criticism of Luis de Vargas on a similar failure: 'Methinks he is
saying, Forgive them, Lord, for they know not what they do.'"

"_A propos!_ of pictures. Mrs. Carew, I must arrange to have you see
a superb new painting recently hung upon the wall at the 'Century,'
and ask your opinion of its merit----"

Regina did not catch the remainder of her guardian's sentence, which
she felt assured was intended to divert the conversation and shield
Olga, for just then Mr. Chesley asked to fill her glass, and the talk
drifted away to less dangerous topics.

Irresistibly attracted by some subtle charm in his manner she found
herself drawn into a pleasant dialogue with him relative to some
startling incidents which he narrated of the early miners in the far
West. Watching his face, she puzzled her brain with the solution of
the singular familiarity it possessed. She had never met him until
to-day, and yet her heart wanned toward him more and more.

At length she ventured the question: "Did you leave your family in
California?"

"Unfortunately I have no family, and no relatives. My dear young
lady, is it not melancholy to find a confirmed old bachelor, verging
fast upon decrepitude, with no one to look after or care for him?
When I was a good-looking young beau, and should have been hunting me
a bonny blue-eyed bride, I was digging gold from the rocky ribs of
mountains in Western solitudes. When I made my fortune, I discovered
too late that I had given my youth in exchange."

"I should think, sir, that you might still marry, and be very happy."

His low pleasant laugh did not embarrass her, and he answered:

"You are very kind to kindle that beacon of encouragement, but I fear
your charitable sympathy clouds your judgment. Do you imagine any
fair young girl could brave my grey hairs and wrinkles?"

"A young girl would not suit you, sir; but there must be noble
middle-aged ladies whom you could admire, and trust, and love?"

He