breathless, in fact. Arthur did not know what he was talking about,
and Maud probably no better what she was saying, but there was not a
moment's silence. A stranger meeting them would have thought, "What a
remarkably jolly couple!"

"I 'm much obliged for your escort," said Maud, as she stood upon her
doorstep.

"Not at all. Great pleasure, I 'm sure."

"Good-evening."

"Good-evening." And she disappeared within the door.

Arthur walked away with a slow, mechanical step. His fallen jaw, open
mouth, and generally idiotic expression of countenance would have
justified his detention by any policeman who might have met him, on
suspicion of being a feeble-minded person escaped from custody. Turning
the first corner, he kept on with the same dragging step till he came
to a vacant lot. Then, as if he were too feeble to get any farther, he
stopped and leaned his back against the fence. Bracing his legs before
him so as to serve as props, he thrust his hands deep in his pockets,
and raising his eyes appealingly to the stars, ejaculated, "Proposed to,
by Jove!" A period of profound introspection followed, and then he broke
forth: "Well, I 'll be hanged!" emphasizing each word with a slow nod.
Then he began to laugh,--not noisily; scarcely audibly, indeed; but
with the deep, unctuous chuckle of one who gloats over some exquisitely
absurd situation, some jest of many facets, each contributing its ray of
humor.

Yet, if this young man had tremblingly confessed his love to a lady, he
would have expected her to take it seriously.

Nevertheless, let us not be too severe with him for laughing. It was
what the average young man probably would have done under similar
circumstances, and it was particularly stated at the outset that there
was nothing at all extraordinary about Arthur Burton. For the rest, it
was not a wholly bad symptom. Had he been a conceited fellow, he very
likely would not have laughed. He would have stroked his mustache and
thought it quite natural that a woman should fall in love with him, and
even would have felt a pity for the poor thing. It was, in fact, because
he was not vain that he found the idea so greatly amusing.

On parting with Arthur, Maud rushed upstairs and locked herself in her
room. She threw herself into the first chair she stumbled over in the
dimly lighted apartment, and sat there motionless, her eyes fixed on
the empty air with an expression of desperation, her hands clinched so
tight