to Washington," he replied, at
length.

"Forty cents," Nattie answered, shortly.

"Thank you," he said, but without moving, and after a moment, as if
desirous of opening a conversation, he continued, smiling, "I hardly
think I will send a message to-day; I presume you will not object to
being spared the trouble?"

Nattie, having been quarreling all day with intangible somethings, was
rather glad than otherwise to find a real object upon which she could
vent the unamiability resulting from her surplus discontent. The young
man's evident desire to talk more than circumstances warranted, was
displeasing to her, and she rejoined very stiffly,

"It is a matter of perfect indifference to me," and turned away.

With an amused smile, he looked at the back thus presented to his view,
opened his lips to speak, hesitated, and finally walked away. Nattie,
looking after him out of the corners of her eyes, saw him glance back as
he opened the door, and had a remorseful feeling that perhaps she had
been crosser to him than he really deserved, for he was certainly very
fine-looking. But what was done could not be undone, and with no
expectation of ever seeing him again, she dismissed the matter from her
mind.

The best, perhaps the only really pleasant part of Nattie's life now,
was her evenings, passed almost invariably with Cyn. Indeed, Cyn seemed
to be a magnet, around which all gathered--Quimby, although, of course,
Cyn herself was not his chief attraction--Celeste Fishblate, who
determinedly pushed herself into an intimacy, and Jo Norton, who, had it
not been for the fact so loudly proclaimed by himself, of his having no
sentiment in his soul, would have been suspected of being on the road to
falling in love with Cyn, so strangely was he attracted to her company.
But this, of course, was impossible for _him_!

"That will not do, dear," Cyn remarked, when Nattie related her little
adventure with the young gentleman. "Do you know you have been in a
dreadful state of mind ever since 'C' intruded his personality?"

Nattie colored a little as she replied, discontentedly, "Oh, it isn't
_that_, I assure you; the truth is, I am ambitious, Cyn. I suppose I
forgot it, slightly, while I was so interested in 'C;' but I cannot be
content with a mere working on from day to day, in the same old routine,
and nothing more."

Cyn looked at her scrutinizingly, as she asked, "But in what particular
way are you ambitious? to be rich, or wha