light strike his hair; she half heard his deep breath;
and, like a flood, there suddenly swept over her the knowledge that this
new friend, this sympathizing soul, was an unknown man, and that she
was a girl. What had she done? What could she do? Confusion and
embarrassment suddenly overtook her. She bent her eyes away from those
other eyes, that were growing bolder and more tender in their gaze.
"I--I--" she began, and just at this very inauspicious moment, while
she sat there, flushed, by the stranger's side, the clatter of
swiftly-approaching wheels sounded, and a carriage turned the corner,
containing Mrs. Jerrold, Edith, Albert, and Norman Mann. They all saw
her.

Mae laughed. It was such a dreadful situation that it was funny, and she
laughed again. "Those are my friends," she said, in a low voice. "We
can walk away," replied the officer, and turned his face in the opposite
direction. "It is too late; and, besides, why should we?" And Mae looked
full in his face, then turned to the carriage, which was close upon
them.

"How do you all do?" she cried, gleefully and bravely. "Isn't there room
for me in there? Mrs. Jerrold, I would like to introduce Signor--your
name?"--she said, quite clearly, in Italian, turning to the officer.

"Bero," he replied.

"Signor Bero. He was very kind, and saved me from--from a little beggar
boy."

"You must have been in peril, indeed," remarked Mrs. Jerrold, bowing
distantly to Bero, and beckoning the coachman, as Mae sprang into the
carriage, to drive on. "I am sorry to put you on the box, Norman,"
Mrs. Jerrold added, as Mae took the seat, in silence, that Mr. Mann
had vacated for her, "and I hope Miss Mae is also." But Mae didn't hear
this. She was plucking up courage in her heart, and assuming a saucy
enough expression, that sat well on her bright face. Indeed, she was
a pretty picture, as she sat erect, with lips and nostrils a trifle
distended, and her head a little in the air. The Italian thought so,
as he walked away, smiling softly, clicking his spurs and stroking
his moustache; and Norman Mann thought so too, as he tapped his cane
restlessly on the dash-board and scowled at the left ear of the off
horse. The party preserved an amazed and stiff silence, as they drove
homeward.

"Eric," cried Norman, very late that same night. "Do be sober, I have
something to say to you about Miss Mae."

"Norman, old boy, how can a fellow of my make be sober when he has drunk
four gla