lay within his power to lighten. He was not old Miss
Elizabeth Gower's lodger now--he was her niece's husband in perspective.
He was to marry Priscilla Gower in eight months. This was why Theodora
North, in glistening rose-pink satin, sent him home confronting a
suddenly-raised spirit of pain. Twice, in one night, he had found
himself feeling toward Theodora North as he had never felt toward
Priscilla Gower in his life. Twice, in one night, he had turned his eyes
upon this girl of sixteen, and suffered a sudden shock of enthusiasm, or
something like it. He was startled and discomfited. She had no right to
win such admiration from him--he had no right to give it.

But as his walk in the night-air cooled him, it cooled his ardor of
self-examination somewhat. His discontent was modified by the time he
reached his own door, and took his latch-key out of his pocket. The face
that had looked down upon him beneath the light at the head of the
stair-case, had faded into less striking color--it was only a girl's
face again. He was on better terms with himself, and his weakness seemed
less formidable.

"I will keep my promise to-morrow," he said, "and Priscilla shall go
with us. Poor Priscilla!--poor girl! Rose-pink satin would scarcely be
in good taste in Broome street."

The promise he had made was nothing more than a ratification of the old
one. They were to see the lions together, and Priscilla was to guide
them.

And when the morrow came, he found it, after all, safe enough, and an
easy enough matter, to tuck Theodora's small, gloved hand under his arm,
when they set out on their tour of investigation and discovery. The girl
was pretty enough, too, in her soft, black merino--her "best" dress in
Downport--but she was not dazzling. The little round, black-plumed hat
was becoming also; but in his now more prosaic mood, he could stand
that, too, pretty as it was in an innocent, unconsciously-coquettish
way. Theo was never coquettish herself in the slightest degree. She was
not world-wise enough for that yet. But she was quite exhilarating
to-day; so glad to be out even in the London fog of November; so glad to
be taken lion-hunting; so delighted with the shops and their gay
windows; so ready to let her young tongue run on in a gay stream of
chatter, altogether so bright, and pretty, and joyous, that her escort
was fain to be delighted too.

"Guess where we are going to first?" said he. (He had not before openly
spoken of P