n over and over again, only the colonel
gave him no encouragement. They had met accidentally in the grounds of
the White House, and Mr. Cheyne had introduced them to each other; but
the colonel bore himself very stiffly on that occasion and ever after
when they met on the Parade and in the reading-room. In his heart he
was secretly attracted by Sir Harry's blunt ways and honest face; but
he was a cousin of those Challoners, and intimacy was not to be
desired: so their intercourse was limited to a brief word or two.

"Your father does not want to know me," he said once, in his outspoken
way, to Miss Middleton, when they met at the very gate of Brooklyn,
and she had asked him, with some little hesitation, if he were coming
in. "It is a pity," he added, regretfully, "for I have taken a fancy
to him: he seems a downright good sort, and we agree in politics."

Elizabeth blushed; for once her courtesy and love of truth were sadly
at variance.

"He does like you very much, Sir Harry," she said; and then she
hesitated.

"Only my cousins sew gowns," he returned, with a twinkle of amusement
in his eyes, "so he must not encourage me,--eh, Miss Middleton?--as we
are all in the same boat. Well, we must allow for prejudice. By and by
we will alter all that." And then he gave her a good-natured nod, and
sauntered away to tell his old friend Mattie all about it; for he had
a kindly feeling towards the little woman, and made her his
confidante on these occasions.

Phillis still called him Alcides, to his endless mystification: but
she privately wondered when his labors were to begin. After that first
afternoon he did not speak much of his future intentions: indeed, he
was a little reserved with the girls, considering their intimacy; but
to his aunt he was less reticent.

"Do you know, Aunt Catherine," he said one day to her, "that that old
house of yours--Glen Cottage, is it not?--will soon be in the market?
Ibbetson wants to get off the remainder of the lease."

Mrs. Challoner leaned back in her chair and put down her knitting:

"Are you sure, Harry? Then Adelaide was right: she told me in her last
letter that Mrs. Ibbetson's health was so bad that they thought of
wintering at Hyeres, and that there was some talk of giving up the
house."

"Oh, yes, it is true," he returned, carelessly; "Ibbetson told me so
himself. It is a pretty little place enough, and they have done a good
deal to it, even in a few months: they want to ge