y with this
young man, and she began her quarrel, as lovely woman generally does,
by assuming an air of tremendous unconcern. Her disinterestedness was
really provoking.

"How did you like Sue Fraley's new bonnet last Sunday?" she asked, with
an innocent smile.

"Sue Fraley's new bonnet!" exclaimed Woodward, surprised in the midst
of some serious reflections; "why, I didn't know she had a new bonnet."

"Oh! you _didn't_? You were right _opposite_. I should think _anybody_
could see she had a new bonnet by the way she tossed her head."

"Well, I didn't notice it, for one. Was it one of these sky-scrapers? I
was looking at something else."

"_Oh!_"

Woodward had intended to convey a very delicately veiled compliment,
but this young woman's tone rather embarrassed him. He saw in a moment
that she was beyond the reach of the playful and ingenious banter which
he had contrived to make the basis of their relations.

"Yes," he said, "I was looking at something else. I had other things to
think about."

"Well, she _did_ have a new bonnet, with yellow ribbons. She looked
handsome. I hear she's going to get married soon."

"I'm glad to hear it. She's none too young," said Woodward.

At another time Sis would have laughed at the suggestion implied in
this remark, but now she only tapped the floor gently with her foot,
and looked serious.

"I hope you answered her note," she said presently.

"What note?" he asked, with some astonishment,

Sis was the picture of innocence.

"Oh, I didn't think!" she exclaimed. "I reckon it's a great _secret_. I
mean the note she handed you when she came out of church. It's none of
_my_ business."

"Nor of mine either," said Woodward, with a relieved air. "The note was
for Tip Watson."

This statement, which was not only plausible but true, gave a new
direction to Sis's anger.

"Well, I don't see how anybody that thinks anything of himself could be
a mail-carrier for _Sue Fraley!_" she exclaimed scornfully; whereupon
she flounced out, leaving Woodward in a state of bewilderment.

He had not made love to the girl, principally because her moods were
elusive and her methods unique. She was dangerously like other women of
his acquaintance, and dangerously unlike them. The principal of the
academy in Gullettsville--a scholarly old gentleman from Middle
Georgia, who had been driven to teaching by dire necessity--had once
loftily informed Woodward that Miss Poteet was superior to her