e of
her aunt in the suburbs of Boston,--a home which Dorris had called her
own since her parents' death, years before, when she and her brother had
been confided to her aunt's tender care. And Dorris loved every spot of
this rambling, old, colonial mansion, from its spacious ballroom, and
its wide porches, to her own room, with its faded tapestry hangings, its
great fireplace and bright brass andirons, its hanging book-shelves with
their store of well-chosen volumes, the English titles varied here and
there by a Latin or French classic (for Dorris had studied with her
brother, and was quite proficient in both languages; indeed, L'Estrange
delighted in calling her a _bas-bleu_ in a vain attempt to tease her),
its tall, brass-handled secretary with its secret drawer, which Dorris
called so tantalizing, because she had no secret to hide in its depths,
and the eight-day clock ticking away in the corner, which now struck the
hour, waking Dorris from her revery into words:--

"I wonder why he does not go: he is no coward; it is not that. I verily
believe it is as he said: he is selfish, and does not want the trouble.
How he laughs, and disbelieves in everybody, even himself! and what a
narrow life he must lead! And yet, sometimes I think better, as I needs
must, of my old playmate. Just now he spoke to me with real feeling, and
truly, it was a sweet and comforting thought he offered me. And yet the
other day, after church, when Gen. Brewster spoke so cordially to Henri
L'Estrange and Lieut. Allen, and then bestowed rather a contemptuous
glance on Keith,--I mean Mr. Endicott,--I caught him quoting, under his
breath, 'The world is a farce, and its favors are follies; but farces
and follies are very dear to human hearts.' I could not help saying,
'When its favors are well-earned I think they cease to be follies.' It
was, at the best, bad taste to cavil in that way at Henri, who is so
brave and enthusiastic, and has come all the way from his own and his
father's native France because his mother's land needed brave, true men.
And he is going away next week; if he could only send us news of Roy!"

"Dorris!" called her aunt's voice. "It is quite time you were ready for
dinner, dear. And do you not think you were failing in courtesy to your
guests to leave them so abruptly?"

"Cousin Henri has had enough of my society, to-day, Aunt Dorothy, and
I've no patience with Keith Endicott; you heard how he answered uncle.
But I'll come in