mates and bosom friends at boarding-school; and
Lucy, who recently has been married, is now on her first visit to her
friend since that event. She is seated on a hassock, with her hands
clasped over her knees, looking up at Maud,--an attitude well suited
to her _petite_ figure. She is going home on the morrow, or rather on
the day already begun; and this fact, together with the absorbing nature
of the present conversation, accounts for the lateness of the session.

"And so, Maud," she is saying, while she regards her friend with an
expression at once sympathetic and amused,--"and so that is what has
been making your letters so dismal lately. I fancied that nothing less
could suggest such melancholy views of life. The truth is, I came
on this visit as much as anything to find out about him. He is a
good-looking fellow, certainly; and, from what little chance I had
to form an opinion to-night, seems sensible enough to make it quite
incredible that he should not be in love with such a girl in a thousand
as you. Are you quite sure he is n't?"

"You had a chance to judge to-night," replied Maud, with a hard little
laugh. "You overheard our conversation. 'Good-evening, Miss Elliott;
jolly party, is n't it?' That was all he had to say to me, and quite
as much as usual. Of course we are old acquaintances, and he 's always
pleasant and civil: he couldn't be anything else; but he wastes mighty
little time on me. I don't blame him for preferring other girls'
society. He would show very little taste if he did not enjoy Ella
Perry's company better than that of a tongue-tied thing like me. She is
a thousand times prettier and wittier and more graceful than I am."

"Nonsense," exclaimed Lucy. "She is a flirt and a conceited little minx.
She is not to be mentioned the same day with you; and he would think so,
if he could only get to know you. But how in the world is he ever going
to? Why, you seem to be shyer than ever, poor dear. You were actually
distant, almost chilling, in your manner towards him to-night, although
I know you didn't mean to be."

"I know it. Don't I know it!" groaned Maud. "I always am shyer and
stiffer with him than with any one else. O Lucy! you can't guess what
a dreadful thing it is to be shy. It is as if you were surrounded by a
fog, which benumbs you, and chills all who approach you. I dare say he
thinks that I actually dislike him. I could not blame him if he did. And
I can't help it. I could never make h