ancial revulsions."

With that fine instinct peculiar to lovers, Matthew Maltboy immediately
recognized in Mr. Chiffield a rival--and a dangerous one. Having seen
much of society, Maltboy was well aware that Mr. Chiffield's mature age,
his grim appearance, his sparse whiskers, and even the bald spot on the
top of his head, were eminent advantages with which youth and bloom, and
a full head of hair could not cope--unless with the aid of that
fascination which Matthew flattered himself that he possessed, and
which, he thought, he had used to some purpose during his hurried
conversation with his twentieth enslaver, Miss Whedell. The usages of
New Year's day, as well as frequent impatient nods from Quigg, and
suggestive coughs from Overtop, would not permit of his staying longer.
He therefore, rose to take his leave, his fellow pilgrims doing
likewise, when Miss Whedell remarked that they were in a great hurry,
and regretted that they could not remain a few minutes more.

The captivated Maltboy toyed, with his hat in an uncertain way, and was
half disposed to sit down again, when Quigg hastily produced his
visiting list, and said, with his best business smile:

"We Should certainly be very happy, Miss Whedell; but we have
seventy-five calls still to make, and it is now (consulting his watch)
two o'clock."'

As the three visitors withdrew (declining, at every step, a pressing
invitation to taste the refreshments which were piled in mountainous
form on a table in an adjoining alcove), Maltboy exchanged a look of
deep, sentimental meaning with Miss Whedell, who rose at least six
inches from her chair, and followed it with a slight hostile glare at
Mr. Chiffield, upon whose equable face it fell harmless. Overtop bowed
coldly to everybody, as if he were disappointed in the human species;
and Quigg gave a parting grin at the room in general, and at nobody or
nothing in particular,

"We're all right, Top," whispered Maltboy, as they descended the steps
to the sidewalk. "She smiled slightly when I mentioned having seen her
from our back parlor window. I have obtained permission to call again."

"You'll have to do it without me, my dear fellow," returned Overtop,
tossing back his head from force of habit, the offensive cowlick being
then suppressed by his hat. "Nothing on earth could induce me to speak
to that dull widow again."

"She doesn't live there," said Quigg. "She is some connection, I
believe, of the queer old Dutch