elman in the matter of the nosegay. He started when I
mentioned the widow's name.

"Not the mother of the girl whom Fritz wants to marry?" he exclaimed.

"Yes, the same. Don't you admire Fritz's taste? Isn't Miss Minna a
charming girl?"

"I can't say, David. I was bewitched--I had no eyes for anybody but her
mother. Do you think Madame Fontaine noticed me?"

"Oh, yes. I saw her look at you."

"Turn this way, David. The effect of the moonlight on you seems to make
you look younger. Has it the same effect on me? How old should you guess
me to be to-night? Fifty or sixty?"

"Somewhere between the two, sir."

(He was close on seventy. But who could have been cruel enough to say so,
at that moment?)

My answer proved to be so encouraging to the old gentleman that he
ventured on the subject of Madame Fontaine's late husband. "Was she very
fond of him, David? What sort of man was he?"

I informed him that I had never even seen Dr. Fontaine; and then, by way
of changing the topic, inquired if I was too late for the regular
supper-hour at Main Street.

"My dear boy, the table was cleared half an hour ago. But I persuaded our
sour-tempered old housekeeper to keep something hot for you. You won't
find Keller very amiable to-night, David. He was upset, to begin with, by
writing that remonstrance to your aunt--and then your absence annoyed
him. 'This is treating our house like an hotel; I won't allow anybody to
take such liberties with us.' Yes! that was really what he said of you.
He was so cross, poor fellow, that I left him, and went out for a stroll
on the bridge. And met my fate," added poor Mr. Engelman, in the saddest
tones I had ever heard fall from his lips.

My reception at the house was a little chilly.

"I have written my mind plainly to your aunt," said Mr. Keller; "you will
probably be recalled to London by return of post. In the meantime, on the
next occasion when you spend the evening out, be so obliging as to leave
word to that effect with one of the servants." The crabbed old
housekeeper (known in the domestic circle as Mother Barbara) had her
fling at me next. She set down the dish which she had kept hot for me,
with a bang that tried the resisting capacity of the porcelain severely.
"I've done it this once," she said. "Next time you're late, you and the
dog can sup together."

The next day, I wrote to my aunt, and also to Fritz, knowing how anxious
he must be to hear from me.

To tell him the wh