riscilla to her.)

She glanced up into his face, brightly. She remembered what he had told
her about his lady friend.

"I don't exactly know the name of the place," she said; "but I think I
know the name of the person we are going to see."

"Do you?" was his reply. "Then say it to me--let me hear it."

"Miss Gower," she answered, softly, in a pretty reverence for him. "Miss
Priscilla Gower."

He nodded, slightly, with a curious mixture of expressions in his face.

"Yes," he said. "Miss Gower, or rather Miss Priscilla Gower, as you say.
Number twenty-three, Broome street; and Broome street is not a
fashionable locality, my dear Theodora."

"Isn't it?" queried Theo. "Why not?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Ask Lady Throckmorton," he said. "But do you know who Miss Priscilla
Gower is, Theodora?"

Her bright eyes crept up to his, half-timidly; but she said nothing, so
he continued.

"Miss Priscilla Gower is the young lady to whom I am to be married next
July. Did you know that?"

"Yes," answered Theo, looking actually pleased, and blushing beautifully
as he looked down at her. "But I am very much obliged to you for telling
me, Mr. Oglethorpe."

"Why?" he asked. It was very preposterous, that even though his mood was
so prosaic and paternal a one, he was absurdly, vacantly sensible of
feeling some uneasiness at the brightness of her upturned face. For
pity's sake, why was it that he was impelled to such a puerile
weakness--such a vanity, as he sternly called it.

"Because," returned Theo, "it makes me feel as if--I mean it makes me
happy to think you trust me enough to tell me about what has made you
happy. I hope--oh! I do hope Miss Priscilla Gower will like me."

He had been looking straight before him while she spoke, but this
brought his eyes to hers again, and to her face--bright, appealing,
upturned--and he found himself absolutely obliged to steady himself with
a jesting speech.

"My dearest Theodora," he said. "Miss Priscilla Gower could not possibly
help it."

Comforting as this assurance was to her, it must be confessed she found
herself somewhat over-awed on reaching Broome street, and being taken
into the tiny, dwarfed-looking parlor of number twenty-three; Miss
Elizabeth Gower herself was there, in her company-cap, and
long-cherished company-dress of snuff-colored satin. There were not many
shades of difference in either her snuff-colored gown, or her
snuff-colored skin, or her neat, snuff