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I clenched my teeth. "I am nineteen, madam."

"No," he said, but Ned Ferry had lately restored to him, by proxy, some lost letters, with an invitation to come and see him.

I laughed insolently. The young ladies sparkled, and so did Miss Harper, as she asked him who had been the proxy.

He admitted that by the true religionist's standard it was not honest, but reminded me that Ned Ferry--in his blindness--was only a poor romanticist. The despatch was addressed to Lieutenant Edgard Ferry-Durand.

Turn away thine eyes, maiden passing fair. O maiden passing fair, turn away thine eyes!

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