at speech at the
Residence. Perhaps he let this feeling color his manner, however
faintly. He lacked the last fine instinct; he could not forbear; and he
spoke while all her nerves and fluttering pulses cried him mercy.

XI.

KITTY ANSWERS.

It was dimmest twilight when Kitty entered Mrs. Ellison's room and sank
down on the first chair in silence.

"The colonel met a friend at the St. Louis, and forgot about the
expedition, Kitty," said Fanny, "and he only came in half an hour ago.
But it's just as well; I know you've had a splendid time. Where's Mr.
Arbuton?"

Kitty burst into tears.

"Why, has anything happened to him?" cried Mrs. Ellison, springing
towards her.

"To him? No! What should happen to _him_?" Kitty demanded with an
indignant accent.

"Well, then, has anything happened to _you_?"

"I don't know if you can call it _happening_. But I suppose you'll be
satisfied now, Fanny. He's offered himself to me." Kitty uttered the
last words with a sort of violence, as if since the fact must be stated,
she wished it to appear in the sharpest relief.

"O dear!" said Mrs. Ellison, not so well satisfied as the successful
match-maker ought to be. So long as it was a marriage in the abstract,
she had never ceased to desire it; but as the actual union of Kitty and
this Mr. Arbuton, of whom, really, they knew so little, and of whom, if
she searched her heart, she had as little liking as knowledge, it was
another affair. Mrs. Ellison trembled at her triumph, and began to think
that failure would have been easier to bear. Were they in the least
suited to each other? Would she like to see poor Kitty chained for life
to that impassive egotist, whose very merits were repellent, and whose
modesty even seemed to convict and snub you? Mrs. Ellison was not able
to put the matter to herself with moderation, either way; doubtless she
did Mr. Arbuton injustice now. "Did you accept him?" she whispered,
feebly.

"Accept him?" repeated Kitty. "No!"

"O dear!" again sighed Mrs. Ellison, feeling that this was scarcely
better, and not daring to ask further.

"I'm dreadfully perplexed, Fanny," said Kitty, after waiting for the
questions which did not come, "and I wish you'd help me think."

"I will, darling. But I don't know that I'll be of much use. I begin to
think I'm not very good at thinking."

Kitty, who longed chiefly to get the situation more distinctly before
herself, gave no heed to this confession, but wen