e
to have a rejected lover wandering around in the same house with one!"

And Nattie, judging from his late conduct that the contingency referred
to was likely to occur, resolved to be careful and not give him any
opportunity to express his feelings, and furthermore, to kindly and
cautiously teach him the meaning of the word Friendship, and
particularly to define the broad distinction between that and Love.

But circumstances are mulish things, and not to be governed at will, as
Nattie was soon to discover.

A few evenings after she called in to see Cyn, who happened to be out.
But she was momentarily expected to return, as Mrs. Simonson said, so
Nattie concluded to wait, and sat down at the piano. Not noticing she
had left the door partly open, and never dreaming of approaching danger,
she began to play, when suddenly, the hesitating voice of Quimby broke
in upon the strains of the "First Kiss" waltz.

"I--may I come in?" he asked. "I--I beg your pardon, but I knocked
several times, you know, and you didn't hear at all."

Nattie would gladly have refused the invitation he asked, but could
think of no possible excuse for so doing, and was therefore compelled to
say,

"Yes--come in, I expect Cyn every moment."

Availing himself of this permission, Quimby entered, balanced his hat on
the edge of an album, and seating himself in a chair, seized a round on
either side as if he was in danger of blowing away, and stared at her
without a word.

"It has been a lovely day, hasn't it?" Nattie said at last, beginning to
find the silence embarrassing, and reverting to Mrs. Simonson's safe
topic.

"Yes--exactly so!" Quimby answered, strengthening his grasp on the chair
in a vain endeavor to summon the requisite courage to avail himself of
this rare opportunity of pouring out his feelings.

Nattie tried him again on another safe topic.

"Cyn and I dined together to-day."

"I--I can't eat!" burst forth Quimby in accents of despair.

"Can't you?" said Nattie, devoutly wishing Cyn would come. "I am very
sorry, I hope you are not dyspeptic."

"No, no!" he answered, his eyes almost starting from his head between
his determination to wind himself up to the point, and the tightness of
his grasp on the chair. "It's--it's my heart, you know!"

"You don't mean to say you have heart disease?" said Nattie, seeing
danger fast approaching, and taking refuge in obtusity.

"No; I--I beg pardon--not a--not a bodily heart disease,