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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

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Whereat Cécile replied, "Ah--well! we cou'n' like you the leaz bit any-'ow."

My heart beat wildly and I wanted to ask if it was on my account; but I was too pusillanimous a coward, and when I feebly tried to look into her eyes she would not let me, which convinced me that she lacked candor. A dance ended. Gold-laced fellows came and sat on the veranda rail wiping wrists and brows with over-tasked handkerchiefs, and explaining the small mishaps of the floor. Two promenaders mentioned the hour. I gasped my amazement and extended my hand. "Good-bye."

"You sa-ay 'What we a-doin' hyuh?' Well, suh, I mought sa-ay we ain't a-doin' nuth'n'; but I"--he squirted again--"will sa-ay that so fah as you see what we a-doin', you kin see, an' welcome; an' so fah as you don't see, it ain't none o' yo' damn' busi-ness."

"Why, the other one--the son. Lieutenant, is she that monster's wife?"

He let me ponder the fact a long time. "Lieutenant," I asked at length, "did you know your plot against the two Olivers would cross her wishes?"

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