he season, said that it certainly had.

"No balls, no opera--or none to speak of--no parties, no anything. You
will hardly believe it, Mr. Maltboy, but I declare I haven't been to
twenty parties this winter--have I, Gusty?"

"To only two that I know of," responded Mrs. Frump, in a winning voice.

"You provoking creature," said Miss Whedell, "to talk so, when you know
that I have been to at least eighteen parties!" Miss Whedell scowled
charmingly as she spoke, and then added, with a pleasant smile, for the
benefit of Mr. Maltboy: "She's a gay young widow; and you know what
widows are."

Mr. Maltboy's knowledge of that species of the human family was
extensive and exact. He nodded, to signify that he knew something of
them, and felt forearmed, from that moment, against the charms of
Mrs. Frump.

Mrs. Frump told Miss Whedell that she thanked her very much for the
compliment, and laughed so prettily, that Fayette Overtop determined to
apply some of his grand tests for the discovery of sensible women.

Abandoning the vein of commonplace conversation which he had worked
during the five minutes since his arrival, he remarked:

"It really makes us feel young again--does it not, Mrs. Frump?--to renew
this charming custom of receiving and making calls."

Mr. Overtop spoke in general terms, like a philosopher; whereas Mrs.
Frump made a personal application of the remark to herself, and replied,
rather coldly: "I have no doubt that it makes _old_ persons feel
younger," and then she looked at Matthew Maltboy, and seemed to be
listening to the conversation between him and Miss Whedell.

Mr. Overtop paused a moment, and tried again: "Is it not pleasant,
though sad, Mrs. Frump, to think of the friends whom we knew many, many
years ago, who no longer live to greet us on this festal day?" The
speaker alluded to mankind at large.

Mrs. Frump responded tartly, that she could not speak from experience,
of course, but she presumed that Mr. Overtop's opinion was correct. And
again she glanced at Maltboy.

Mr. Overtop briefly rested, and then remarked:

"It may be merely a poetical conceit of mine, but it seems to me that
the horses prance higher, and shake their bells more merrily on New
Year's than any other day, as if they partook in our enjoyment of the
occasion. May not the horse, by some mysterious instinct, know that it
is the beginning of the year?"

Mrs. Frump smiled, and answered: "Not being a horse, of course I can't