d one evening the same question put to me by Aunt Helen. Our
intimacy had continued without further developments, except a constantly
increasing devotion on his part and a corresponding pleasure in his
society on my own. I did not make my infatuation conspicuous by walking
with him in the streets, but otherwise I did not attempt to disguise the
partiality I felt for him. Had I mixed more with other girls before
entering society I might have been less guileless. But as it was, I
never thought of tempering by coquetry the satisfaction visible in my
face whenever Mr. Dale appeared.

This time I was prepared with an answer to the question concerning his
occupation down town:--

"He is in the wool business, and doing very well."

"A wool broker?"

"I think so."

"Humph!"

My father walked up and down the room a few times. "I have already
cautioned you, Virginia, against false prophets who come to you in
sheep's clothing."

He was jocose doubtless so as to pass the matter off lightly, and to
spare my feelings. But I chose to be offended, and answered haughtily,--

"I don't understand what you mean."

He stood still and looked directly at me. "Simply this, Virginia: I
trust you are too sensible to throw yourself away on a man who is not
worthy of you."

"You do Mr. Dale a great injustice," I replied, with an assumption of
dignity; "and me too." Whereupon I swept out of the room.

I flung myself upon my bed and burst into tears. These remarks of my
father and aunt were straws, but they showed me how the wind was likely
to blow. Those upon whom I had a right to rely for sympathy were ready
to desert me first of all. It was cruel and unkind. Had I asked to be
allowed to marry Mr. Dale? Had either of us ever hinted at the subject?
Never! And yet my father was the first to cast suspicions and make
insinuations, for I understood his unjust taunt. Sheep's clothing,
indeed! Detraction was the surest way to make me love him; for if there
was any one under the sun whose sentiments were noble and unselfish,
whose motives were manly and disinterested, I believed it was Roger
Dale. Why had my father spoken in such high terms of my good sense only
six months ago if he thought it necessary to caution me again to-day? I
felt bitter and wronged.

Just then my glance chanced to fall on the tin box in which were the
securities my father had given me in the autumn, and I blushed as I
reflected that except to deposit the dividends