t possible rise of her pretty
eyebrows.

"Yes. You have heard from your mother about that young rascal who ran
into her with his bicycle in London some time ago?"

"Yes; she wrote to me about it," replied Milly, with an amused smile.
"You mean, I suppose, the reckless youth who, after running her down,
had the cowardice to run away and leave her lying flat on the pavement?
Mother has more than once written about that event with indignation, and
rightly, I think. But how came you to know about it, John?"

"Milly," said Barret, holding her hand very tight, and speaking
solemnly, "_I am that cowardly man_!"

"Now, John, you are jesting."

"Indeed--indeed I am not."

"Do you really mean to say that it was _you_ who ran against my--Oh! you
_must_ be jesting!"

"Again I say I am _not_. I am the man--the coward."

"Well, dear John," said Milly, flushing considerably, "I must believe
you; but the fact does not in the least reduce my affection for you,
though it will lower my belief in your prudence, unless you can
explain."

"I will explain," said Barret; and we need scarcely add that the
explanation tended rather to increase than diminish Milly's affection
for, as well as her belief in, her lover! But when Barret went on
further to describe the meeting in the Eagle Pass, she went off into
uncontrollable laughter.

"And you are sure that mother has no idea that you are the man?" she
asked.

"Not the remotest."

"Well, now, John, you must not let her know for some time yet. You must
gain her affections, sir, before you venture to reveal your true
character."

Of course Barret agreed to this. He would have agreed to anything that
Milly proposed, except, perhaps, the giving up of his claim to her own
hand. Deception, however, invariably surrounds the deceiver with more
or less of difficulty. That same evening, while Milly was sitting alone
with her mother, the conversation took a perplexing turn.

There had been a pretty long pause, after a rather favourable commentary
on the character of Barret, when the thin little old lady had wound up
with the observation that the subject of their criticism was a
remarkably agreeable man, with a playfully humorous and a delightfully
serious turn of mind--"and _so_ modest" withal!

Apparently the last words had turned her mind into the new channel, for
she resumed--

"Talking of insolence, my dear--"

"_Were_ we talking of insolence, mother?" said Milly, with a s