nything Mr.
Leavenworth said, Aunt Pen," replied Debby, demurely.

Mrs. Carroll trod on her foot, and abruptly changed the conversation,
by saying, with an appearance of deep interest,--

"Mr. Evan, you are doubtless connected with the Malcoms of Georgia; for
they, I believe, are descended from the ancient Evans of Scotland. They
are a very wealthy and aristocratic family, and I remember seeing their
coat-of-arms once: three bannocks and a thistle."

Mr. Evan had been standing before them with a composure which impressed
Mrs. Carroll with a belief in his gentle blood, for she remembered her
own fussy, plebeian husband, whose fortune had never been able to
purchase him the manners of a gentleman. Mr. Evan only grew a little
more erect, as he replied, with an untroubled mien,--

"I cannot claim relationship with the Malcoms of Georgia or the Evans
of Scotland, I believe, Madam. My father was a farmer, my grandfather
a blacksmith, and beyond that my ancestors may have been
street-sweepers, for anything I know; but whatever they were, I fancy
they were honest men, for that has always been our boast, though, like
President Jackson's, our coat-of-arms is nothing but 'a pair of
shirt-sleeves.'"

From Debby's eyes there shot a bright glance of admiration for the
young man who could look two comely women in the face and serenely own
that he was poor. Mrs. Carroll tried to appear at ease, and, gliding
out of personalities, expatiated on the comfort of "living in a land
where fame and fortune were attainable by all who chose to earn them,"
and the contempt she felt for those "who had no sympathy with the
humbler classes, no interest in the welfare of the race," and many more
moral reflections as new and original as the Multiplication-Table or
the Westminster Catechism. To all of which Mr. Evan listened with
polite deference, though there was something in the keen intelligence
of his eye that made Debby blush for shallow Aunt Pen, and rejoice when
the good lady got out of her depth and seized upon a new subject as a
drowning mariner would a hen-coop.

"Dora, Mr. Ellenborough is coming this way; you have danced with him
but once, and he is a very desirable partner; so, pray, accept, if he
asks you," said Mrs. Carroll, watching a far-off individual who seemed
steering his zigzag course toward them.

"I never intend to dance with Mr. Ellenborough again, so please don't
urge me, Aunt Pen;" and Debby knit her brows with a som