for any man.

"You are not going, I suppose?" calls John, his voice breaking in
rudely upon the harrowing scene. "Shall I send the horse back to the
stables? Here, James,"--to the stable boy,--"take round Rufus; Mr.
Luttrell is going to stay another month or two."

"Remember," says Luttrell, earnestly, still holding her as though loath
to let her go.

"You remind me of Charles the First," murmurs she, smiling through her
tears. "Yes, I will remember _you_, and all you have _said_,
and--_everything_. And more, I shall be longing to see you again.
Now go." Giving him a little push.

Presently--he hardly knows how--he finds himself in the dog-cart, with
John, oppressively cheerful, beside him, and, looking back as they
drive briskly up the avenue, takes a last glance at Brooklyn, with
Molly on the steps, waving her hand to him, and watching his retreating
form with such a regretful countenance as gives him renewed courage.

In an upper window is Letitia, more than equal to the occasion, armed
with one of John's largest handkerchiefs, that bears a strong
resemblance to a young sheet as it flutters frantically hither and
thither in the breeze; while below the two children, Daisy and
Renee,--under a mistaken impression that the hour is festive,--throw
after him a choice collection of old boots much the worse for wear,
which they have purloined with praiseworthy adroitness from under their
nurse's nose.

"Oh, Letty, I do feel so honestly lonely," says Molly, half an hour
later, meeting her sister-in-law on the stairs.

"Do you, dearest?" admiringly. "That is very nice of you. Never mind;
you know you will soon see him again. And let us come and consult about
the dresses you ought to wear at Herst."

"Yes, do let us," returns Miss Massereene, brightening with suspicious
alacrity, and drawing herself up as straight as a young tree out of the
despondent attitude she has been wearing. "That will pass the time
better than anything."

Whereupon Letitia chuckles with ill-suppressed amusement and gives it
as her opinion that "dear Molly isn't as bad as she thinks herself."

* * * * *

John has done his duty, has driven the melancholy young man to the
station, and very nearly out of his wits--by insisting on carrying on a
long and tedious argument that lasts the entire way, waiting
pertinaciously for a reply to every one of his questions.

This has taken some time, more especiall