Morton. 'But we gentlemen think, Miss
Kennedy, that ladies of a certain stamp can scarcely fail of
so desirable a position.'

'Ah, but I want a pair of bona fide wings!' said Wych Hazel,
and she looked so comically innocent and witch-like that Mr.
Morton forgot all else in admiration; and Mr. Dell looked at
her with all his eyes as he remarked,--

'Not to fly away from the poor and needy--as many of Mr.
Morton's angels do.'

'Do they?' said Wych Hazel,--'where do they fly to? Mr. Morton,
what becomes of your angels?'

'My angels,' said Mr. Morton with some emphasis on the
pronoun, 'would never be in the majority. When I said "ladies
of a certain stamp," I by no means intended to say that the
class was a large one.'

'No, sir, of course not. If the class were large, I should
suppose the stamp would become very uncertain. Mr. Dell, what
does Crocus want most, just now?'

'I should say--angels,' said Mr. Dell. He spoke with a smile,
but with a shrewd and sensible eye withal. He was not a
beauty, but he had mettle in him.

'That's a bad want in the present state of the case, as set
forth by Mr. Morton. Are gold angels good for anything as a
substitute?'

'Good for very little. When I said angels, I spoke of what the
world most wants, as well as Crocus; angels in human form, I
mean, or rather, in their human state of initiation. There is
no substitute. Gold will do something; but nothing of what a
good man or a good woman will do--anywhere.'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Mr. Morton, rising, 'I regret much that a
business appointment calls me away. But if you will indulge
me, I will call again the day after to-morrow, in the
afternoon, and perhaps I may hope for your company on a drive.
You must make acquaintance with this fine region.'

'Thank you'--Wych Hazel hesitated, looking for some retreat,
finally took shelter behind her guardian. 'Thank you, sir, I
will ask Mr. Falkirk.'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Mr. Morton, extending his hand, 'you must
allow me to express my admiration! I wish other young ladies
were so thoughtful and prudent. But if they were, it would not
make your conduct less remarkable.' And Mr. Morton departed,
while Wych Hazel, turning a sharp pirouette on one toe,
dropped into her chair like a thistle down. But all that
appeared to the eyes of Mr. Dell was a somewhat extensive
flutter of muslin. He had no time to remark upon it nor upon
anything else, as there immediately succeeded a flutter of
musl