rror as well as its daily fear. I wish the one were as unreal as the
other."

"You act as if both were unreal to you," said I. "The contrast between
your appearance and that of some other members of the lane is quite
marked."

"You refer"--he seemed to hate to speak--"to the Misses Knollys, I
presume."

I endeavored to treat the subject lightly.

"To your young enemy, Lucetta," I smilingly replied.

He had been looking at me in a perfectly modest and respectful manner,
but he dropped his eyes at this and busied himself abstractedly, and yet
I thought with some intention, in removing a fly from the horse's flank
with the tip of his whip.

"I will not acknowledge her as an enemy," he quietly returned in
strictly modulated tones. "I like the girl too well."

The fly had been by this time dislodged, but he did not look up.

"And William?" I suggested. "What do you think of William?"

Slowly he straightened himself. Slowly he dropped the whip back into its
socket. I thought he was going to answer, when suddenly his whole
attitude changed and he turned upon me a beaming face full of nothing
but pleasure.

"The road takes a turn here. In another moment you will see my house."
And even while he spoke it burst upon us, and I instantly forgot that I
had just ventured on a somewhat hazardous question.

It was such a pretty place, and it was so beautifully and exquisitely
kept. There was a charm about its rose-encircled porch that is only to
be found in very old places that have been appreciatively cared for. A
high fence painted white inclosed a lawn like velvet, and the house
itself, shining with a fresh coat of yellow paint, bore signs of comfort
in its white-curtained windows not usually to be found in the solitary
dwelling of a bachelor. I found my eyes roving over each detail with
delight, and almost blushed, or, rather, had I been twenty years younger
might have been thought to blush, as I met his eyes and saw how much my
pleasure gratified him.

"You must excuse me if I express too much admiration for what I see
before me," I said, with what I have every reason to believe was a
highly successful effort to hide my confusion. "I have always had a
great leaning towards well-ordered walks and trimly kept flower-beds--a
leaning, alas! which I have found myself unable to gratify."

"Do not apologize," he hastened to say. "You but redouble my own
pleasure in thus honoring my poor efforts with your regard. I have
s