there is to tell already. I met Winona about dusk a week ago yesterday
in the company of a tall, handsome, impressive-looking young man whom I
had never seen in my life. I don't know where they were going or where
they came from or what it meant. I hope to see him again so as to say
to him, 'Young man, beware; I have lost one daughter, and I am in no
mood to be trifled with.' I dare say," I continued, nonchalantly,
"that if you were to keep your eyes open you would be able to see what
is evidently going on under your very nose, my dear."

Josephine did not heed this taunt; she was thinking hard.

"I wonder who it could have been," she murmured, presently. "I have
noticed lately that Winona has acted as though she had something on her
mind; but I had assumed it might be because her patients were falling
off, owing to the death of that woman with consumption who could not be
persuaded that she had nothing the matter with her. It would be a
great relief to my mind to see the dear girl happily married. What did
he look like, Fred? Are you certain you have never seen him before?
just think: you're sure it wasn't Mr. Dyer or Mr. Benson? One might
call either of them tall, handsome, and impressive-looking."

"I have told you everything I know, Josephine," I retorted, fiercely.
"I don't know the man from Adam. I should think," I added, with a
sepulchral outburst, "that after what happened yesterday, Josephine,
you wouldn't be in so much haste to many the only girl we have left."

"Excuse me, Fred," she said, gently. "It was cruel of me to suggest
such a thing so soon. And yet I suppose we must be prepared for
something of the kind sooner or later. You know you have constantly
expressed the hope that neither of them would hang fire like dear
Julia."

"Oh, I know it. I'm a selfish brute, Josephine," I answered, beginning
to hone my razor with the desperate air of one who would fain cut his
own throat as the simplest solution of the problem of living.

And only six months ago the horizon of my domestic happiness looked so
clear and comforting. Not even a cloud of the traditional smallness of
a man's hand marred its serenity. Little Fred was pegging away at
Leggatt & Paine's with commendable steadiness all day, and, though he
was apt to dance all night by way of making up for it, I was comforted
in my solicitude regarding his health by the recollection that I used
to do the same when I was his age, my spiritual