Denison as the person addressed. The answer was in so low a tone
that her ear did not make it out, though she listened with suspended
breath.

"Ah! I'm sorry," responded the other. "What is the cause?"

"A matter of the heart, I believe," said Mrs. Denison.

"Indeed is he very much depressed?"

"He is changed," was the simple reply.

"Who was the lady?"

Jessie did not hear the answer.

"You don't tell me so!" In a tone of surprise, and the lady glanced
around the room.

"And he took it very much to heart?" she went on.

"Yes. I think it will change the complexion of his whole life," said
Mrs. Denison. "He is a man of deep feeling--somewhat peculiar; over
diffident; and not given to showing himself off to the best
advantage. But he is every inch a man--all gold and no tinsel! I
have known him from boyhood, and speak of his quality from certain
knowledge."

"He will get over it," remarked the lady. "Men are not apt to go
crazy after pretty girls. The market is full of such attractions."

"It takes more than a painted butterfly to dazzle him, my friend,"
said Mrs. Denison. "His eyes are too keen, and go below the surface
at a glance. The woman he loves may regard the fact as a high
testimonial."

"But you don't suppose he is going to break his heart over this
matter."

"No--oh, no! That is an extreme disaster."

"He will forget her in time; and there are good fish in the sea
yet."

"Time is the great restorer," said Mrs. Denison; "and time will
show, I trust, that good will come from this severe trial which my
young friend is now enduring. These better natures are oftenest
exposed to furnace heat, for only they have gold enough to stand the
ordeal of fire."

"He is wrong to shut himself out from society."

"So I tell him. But he says 'wait--wait, I am not strong enough
yet.'"

"He must, indeed, take the matter deeply to heart."

"He does."

Here the voice fell to such a low measure, that Jessie lost all
distinction of words. But the few sentences which had reached her
ears disturbed her spirit profoundly--too profoundly to make even a
ripple on the surface. No one saw a change on her countenance, and
her voice, answering a moment after to the voice of a friend,
betrayed no unusual sign of feeling.

And this was all she had heard of him for months.

Once, a little while before her marriage, she met him. It was a few
weeks after these brief unsatisfactory sentences had troubled the
waters