ng
shriveled upon its trellis.

But Isabel's aunt met them with a refreshing shower of tears and kisses
in the hall, throwing a solid arm about each of them. "O you dears!"
the good soul cried, "you don't know how anxious I've been about you;
so many accidents happening all the time. I've never read the 'Evening
Transcript' till the next morning, for fear I should find your names
among the killed and wounded."

"O aunty, you're too good, always!" whimpered Isabel; and neither of the
women took note of Basil, who said, "Yes, it 's probably the only thing
that preserved our lives."

The little tinge of discontent, which had colored their sentiment of
return faded now in the kindly light of home. Their holiday was over, to
be sure, but their bliss had but began; they had entered upon that long
life of holidays which is happy marriage. By the time dinner was ended
they were both enthusiastic at having got back, and taking their aunt
between them walked up and down the parlor with their arms round her
massive waist, and talked out the gladness of their souls.

Then Basil said he really must run down to the office that afternoon,
and he issued all aglow upon the street. He was so full of having been
long away and of having just returned, that he unconsciously tried to
impart his mood to Boston, and the dusty composure of the street and
houses, as he strode along, bewildered him. He longed for some familiar
face to welcome him, and in the horse-car into which he stepped he was
charmed to see an acquaintance. This was a man for whom ordinarily he
cared nothing, and whom he would perhaps rather have gone out upon the
platform to avoid than have spoken to; but now he plunged at him with
effusion, and wrung his hand, smiling from ear to ear.

The other remained coldly unaffected, after a first start of surprise
at his cordiality, and then reviled the dust and heat. "But I'm going to
take a little run down to Newport, to-morrow, for a week," he said. "By
the way, you look as if you needed a little change. Aren't you going
anywhere this summer?"

"So you see, my dear," observed Basil, when he had recounted the fact to
Isabel at tea, "our travels are incommunicably our own. We had best
say nothing about our little jaunt to other people, and they won't know
we've been gone. Even if we tried, we couldn't make our wedding-journey
theirs."

She gave him a great kiss of recompense and consolation. "Who wants it,"
she demanded, "t