uite decided
that Charlotte Carroll was to marry young Frank Eastman. He walked
remorselessly over the step where his fancy had placed her, and when
he glanced at her pretty little nook in the sitting-room, as he
passed through with his lamp and his book, it was vacant. Anderson
felt a rigid acquiescence, and read his book with interest until
after midnight.

In the mean time Charlotte, her sister Ina, and young Eastman
sauntered slowly along through the shadowy streets of Banbridge. The
girls held up their white gowns over their lace petticoats. They wore
no hats, and their pretty, soft, dark locks floated like mist around
their faces. The young man pressed Ina's arm as closely and lovingly
as he dared. He was yet young enough and innocent enough to be in his
heart of hearts as afraid of a girl as, when a child, he had been
afraid of his mother. He thought Ina Carroll something wonderful;
Charlotte he scarcely thought of at all except with vague approbation
because she was Ina's sister. He took the girls into Andrew Drew's
drug store for ice-cream soda. He watched, with happy proprietorship,
the girls dally daintily with the long spoons in the sweet, cold
mixture. Seen in the electric light of the store, they had a
bewildering and fairly dazzling splendor of youth and bloom. Their
faces, freshened to exquisite tints by the damp night air, shone
forth from the floating film of dark hair with the unquestioning
delight of the passing moment. There was in these young faces at the
moment no shadow of the past or future. They were pure light. Young
Eastman, eating his ice-cream, looked over his glass at Ina Carroll
and realized the dazzle of her in his soul. She felt his look and
smiled at him pleasantly, yet with a certain gay defiance. Charlotte
caught both looks. She stirred her ice-cream briskly into the liquid
and drank it.

"Come, honey," she said to Ina. "It is time to go home."

A man stood near the door as they passed and raised his hat eagerly.

"Who is that man?" Ina said to young Eastman when they were on the
sidewalk.

"His name is Lee."

When the party had gone out, Lee turned with his self-conscious,
consequential air. Ray, the postmaster, was standing at the counter.
Little Willy Eddy also was there. He lingered about the
soda-fountain. Nobody knew how badly he wanted a drink of soda. He
was like a child about it, but he was afraid lest his Minna should
call him to account for the five cents.

"Pre