And, opening his book, he sat down, and began to read.

Lillie pouted awhile, and then drew from under the sofa-pillow a copy
of "Indiana;" and, establishing her feet on the fender, she began to
read.

Lillie had acquired at school the doubtful talent of reading French
with facility, and was soon deep in the fascinating pages, whose theme
is the usual one of French novels,--a young wife, tired of domestic
monotony, with an unappreciative husband, solacing herself with the
devotion of a lover. Lillie felt a sort of pique with her husband. He
was evidently unappreciative: he was thinking of all sorts of things
more than of her, and growing stupid, as husbands in French romances
generally do. She thought of her handsome Cousin Harry, the only man
that she ever came anywhere near being in love with; and the image of
his dark, handsome eyes and glossy curls gave a sort of piquancy to
the story.

John got deeply interested in his book; and, looking up from time to
time, was relieved to find that Lillie had something to employ her.

"I may as well make a beginning," he said to himself. "I must have my
time for reading; and she must learn to amuse herself."

After a while, however, he peeped over her shoulder.

"Why, darling!" he said, "where did you get that?"

"It is Mrs. Follingsbee's," said Lillie.

"Dear, it is a bad book," said John. "Don't read it."

"It amuses me, and helps pass away time," said Lillie; "and I don't
think it is bad: it is beautiful. Besides, you read what amuses you;
and it is a pity if I can't read what amuses me."

"I am glad to see you like to read French," continued John; "and I can
get you some delightful French stories, which are not only pretty and
witty, but have nothing in them that tend to pull down one's moral
principles. Edmond About's 'Mariages de Paris' and 'Tolla' are
charming French things; and, as he says, they might be read aloud by a
man between his mother and his sister, without a shade of offence."

"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Lillie. "You had better go to Rose
Ferguson, and get her to give you a list of the kinds of books she
prefers."

"Lillie!" said John, severely, "your remarks about Rose are in bad
taste. I must beg you to discontinue them. There are subjects that
never ought to be jested about."

"Thank you, sir, for your moral lessons," said Lillie, turning her
back on him defiantly, putting her feet on the fender, and going on
with her reading.

John seated