care of him," replied
Leo, who felt that he was now the guardian of his sister, and he did
not want any young men "hanging round," especially such young men as
Mr. Wittleworth.

"I wish to see her on business," persisted Fitz, annoyed at Leo's
answers, and the evident want of appreciation of the honor of his visit
which the young mechanic exhibited.

"I'll speak to her. Won't you come in?"

Fitz would come in, and he did. He was shown to the rear room, where
Maggie was clearing off the supper table. Fitz was a young "man of the
world," and as imitative as a monkey. He had once moved in what he
called "good society," and was familiar with all the little courtesies
of life. He expressed his regret at the illness of Andre in the most
courtly terms, and his sympathy with Maggie. Leo wanted to go to work,
but he felt obliged to remain, and witness the interview.

"You will excuse me for calling at such a time; but I will not detain
you long, Miss Maggimore. I understand that you are a French scholar.
Am I rightly informed?"

"Yes, sir, I speak French," replied Maggie, beginning to expect another
job in translating.

"And I suppose you read French."

"Yes, sir."

"I have really forgotten all the French I ever knew," continued Mr.
Wittleworth, apologetically; and one would have supposed, from his
manner, that the French language was the only thing in the world he did
not know, and that it was intensely humiliating to acknowledge that he
did not know that. "I have a letter from France, written in French,
which it is of the utmost importance that I should read. I have taken
the liberty to call upon you to beg the favor of a translation of the
letter."

Mr. Wittleworth took from his pocket the letter which the banker had
given to his mother.

"I shall be very happy to assist you," added Maggie, kindly.

"Thank you, Miss Maggimore. If you will give me the English of the
letter, I will write down the important part of it," continued Fitz,
taking a pencil and paper from his pocket, seating himself at the
table, and handing her the letter.

"It is postmarked Paris," said she, glancing at the envelope.

"So I observed."

"Why, this is the very letter I translated into French for Mr.
Checkynshaw to-day!" exclaimed Maggie, innocently, as she took the
paper from the envelope.

"Ah, indeed!" replied Fitz, thoroughly illuminated by this flood of
light.

Maggie's fair face was instantly covered with blushes. She was