y
common sense as the surest forecast of happiness.

Just at this juncture, a swift turn of the wind-cock, or some
imprudence of diet, resulted in my taking cold--a most unusual procedure
for me, and at the time of Mr. Gregory's call I was unable to see him,
being confined to my bed, in the care of a doctor, who was fighting a
case of threatened pneumonia.

Mr. Gregory expressed his sincere regret, and the next day called again,
and left flowers. These attentions were repeated daily, and soon after
hearing of my improvement, he wrote me a letter in which he said that
which he had intended to say on the evening of the day I fell ill. He
did not request a reply; in fact, he asked me to withhold my answer
until I should be able to see him in person. It would have been wiser,
perhaps, he said, to have postponed any word on the subject until I had
recovered, but he had found it difficult to delay the expression of his
feeling toward me, and hence had written.

This last rather surprised me, for Mr. Gregory had always seemed so
unlikely to be swayed by impulse, or carried, in the slightest degree,
beyond a point indicated by his judgment. It simply went to prove that
the most regularly and smoothly laid-out man, if one may so express it,
has unsuspected crooks and turns.

I had no desire to answer the letter, being perfectly able and willing
to wait until I should see him. In fact, instead of hastening the time
for my acceptance, I rather delayed it, for I reached a point in my
convalescence, when I was able to go down to the parlor, had I so
wished, and still did not.

Each day of my illness, a lovely bouquet of flowers had been left at my
door. They came direct from the greenhouse, and were left without card,
or sign of the giver. I had an eccentric little friend who was quite
devoted to me, and was fond of keeping her left hand in darkest
ignorance of the performances of its counterpart--the right hand--and I
attributed this delicate and beautiful token of sympathy and affection
to her; but, for some inexplicable reason, every morning when the
flowers were brought to my room, and I took them in my hand, a strange
feeling came over me--a feeling I had never had toward my little friend.

Over two weeks had passed, and I was downstairs in the study. My nurse
had gone out, my housekeeper was busy, and I was very lonely. I was
standing at the window, looking westward. The sun had gone down in regal
splendor. Some fete wa