g, briefly,--

"The old lady is worth cultivating,--gives good suppers, and thanks you
for eating them. The girl is well got up, but has no style, and blushes
like a milkmaid. Better fight shy of her, Joe."

"Do you think so? Well, now I rather fancy that kind of thing. She's
new, you see, and I get on with that sort of girl the best, for the old
ones are so deused knowing that a fellow has no chance of a--By the
Lord Harry, she's eating bread and milk!"

Young Leavenworth whisked his glass into his eye, and Mr. Seguin put
down his roll to behold the phenomenon. Poor Debby! her first step had
been a wrong one.

All great minds have their weak points. Aunt Pen's was her breakfast,
and the peace of her entire day depended upon the success of that meal.
Therefore, being down rather late, the worthy lady concentrated her
energies upon the achievement of a copious repast, and, trusting to
former lessons, left Debby to her own resources for a few fatal
moments. After the flutter occasioned by being scooped into her seat by
a severe-nosed waiter, Debby had only courage enough left to refuse tea
and coffee and accept milk. That being done, she took the first
familiar viand that appeared, and congratulated herself upon being able
to get her usual breakfast. With returning composure, she looked about
her and began to enjoy the buzz of voices, the clatter of knives and
forks, and the long lines of faces all intent upon the business of the
hour; but her peace was of short duration. Pausing for a fresh relay of
toast, Aunt Pen glanced toward her niece with the comfortable
conviction that her appearance was highly creditable; and her dismay
can be imagined, when she beheld that young lady placidly devouring a
great cup of brown-bread and milk before the eyes of the assembled
multitude. The poor lady choked in her coffee, and between her gasps
whispered irefully behind her napkin,--

"For Heaven's sake, Dora, put away that mess! The Ellenboroughs are
directly opposite, watching everything you do. Eat that omelet, or
anything respectable, unless you want me to die of mortification."

Debby dropped her spoon, and, hastily helping herself from the dish her
aunt pushed toward her, consumed the leathery compound with as much
grace as she could assume, though unable to repress a laugh at Aunt
Pen's disturbed countenance. There was a slight lull in the clatter,
and the blithe sound caused several heads to turn toward the quart