was the other one."

"That was the other one."

"_She_ has been in New York before?"

"Yes."

"That was the one that Tom Caruthers was bewitched with?"

"Have you heard _that_ story?" said Mr. Dillwyn dryly.

"Why shouldn't I hear it?"

"No reason, that I know. It is one of the 'ways of the world' you
referred to, to tell everything of everybody,--especially when it is
not true."

"Isn't that story true?"

"It has no inherent improbability. Tom is open to influences, and--" He
stopped.

"I know it is true; for Mrs. Caruthers told me herself."

"Poor Tom!"--

"It was very good for him, that the thing was put an end to. But
_you_--you should fly at higher game than Tom Caruthers can strike,
Philip."

"Thank you. There was no occasion for your special fear last night. I
am in no danger there. But I know a man, Jessie,--a man I think much
of, too,--who _is_ very much drawn to one of those ladies. He has
confessed as much to me. What advice shall I give him? He is a man that
can please himself; he has abundant means, and no ties to encumber him."

"Does he hold as high a position as you?"

"Quite."

"And may pretend to as much?"

"He is not a man of pretensions. But, taking your words as they mean, I
should say, yes."

"Is it any use to offer him advice?"

"I think he generally hears mine--if he is not too far gone in
something."

"Ah!--Well, Philip, tell him to think what he is doing."

"O, I _have_ put that before him."

"He would make himself a great goose."

"Perhaps I ought to have some arguments wherewith to substantiate that
prophecy."

"He can see the whole for himself. Let him think of the fitness of
things. Imagine such a girl set to preside over his house--a house like
this, for instance. Imagine her helping him receive his guests; sitting
at the head of his table. Fancy it; a girl who has been accustomed to
sanded floors, perhaps, and paper window-shades, and who has fed on
pumpkins and pork all her life."

Mr. Dillwyn smiled, as his eye roved over what of his sister's house
was visible from where he sat, and he remembered the meal-times in
Shampuashuh; he smiled, but his eye had more thought in it than Mrs.
Burrage liked. She was watching him.

"I cannot tell what sort of a house is in question in the present
case," he said at length. "Perhaps it would not be a house like this."

"It _ought_ to be a house like this."

"Isn't that an open question?"

"No! I am supposing t