d gaping wounds a
romantic probability.

"Storri is not so self-sacrificing," returned Richard with a grin, "and
I am much too modern." Then in a bantering tone: "How much better was
the old day when men might differ nobly foot to foot, with the fair lady
to the victor and a funeral to the vanquished as the natural upshot. It
is too bad! In the name of progress we have come too far and thrown away
too much!"

It was among the marvels how Richard changed. As he talked with Dorothy
those eyes, late flint, became tender and laughingly honest in a fashion
good to see. He appeared younger by half, for anger is ancient and piles
on the years.

"Really, Miss Harley," continued Richard, with a heroic determination to
change the subject, "I haven't as yet paid my respects to you. Your
mother said I might call. She was very kind!" And here Richard pressed
the little hand in that one which had so discouraged Storri, while Mrs.
Hanway-Harley suddenly swept into the room as if "Mother" were her cue.

"Mamma," cried Dorothy, presenting Richard, "this is Mr. Storms. You
remember; he saved my--my nose."

Certainly Mrs. Hanway-Harley remembered. She recalled the event in a
manner superbly amiable and condescending.

"And you told us then," said Mrs. Hanway-Harley, "that you would
presently dwell in Washington. Is it your plan to make the town your
permanent residence?"

"My plans depend on the plans of others, madam. I have become chained to
their chariot and cannot call myself free." Here Richard looked
audaciously sly at Dorothy, who interested herself with certain flowers
that stood in the window.

"Ah! I see," returned Mrs. Hanway-Harley, who did not see at all. "You
mean Mr. Gwynn." She had heard of Mr. Gwynn, so far as the town knew
that personage, from her husband. "But you said 'others'?"

"Yes, madam; besides Mr. Gwynn, there are Matzai and Mr. Pickwick."
Then, responding to Mrs. Hanway-Harley's inquiring brows, Richard went
forward with explanations. "Matzai is my valet, while Mr. Pickwick is a
terrier torn by an implacable hatred of rats; which latter is the more
strange, madam, for I give you my word Mr. Pickwick never saw a rat in
his life."

"What an extraordinary young man!" ruminated Mrs. Hanway-Harley, and she
bestowed upon Richard a searching glance to see if by any miracle of
impertinence he was poking fun at her.

That well-balanced gentleman realized the peril, and faced it with a
countenance as blank