sent back his boots to be
brushed a second time. A more smoothly fitting pair of gloves Bond
Street never saw.

"But you have not the air," said he to Macleod, "of a young fellow going
to see his sweetheart. What is the matter, man?"

Macleod hesitated for a moment.

"Well, I am anxious she should impress you favorably," said he, frankly;
"and it is an awkward position for her--and she will be embarrassed, no
doubt--and I have some pity for her, and almost wish some other way had
been taken--"

"Oh, nonsense?" the major said, cheerfully. "You need not be nervous on
her account. Why, man, the silliest girl in the world could impose on an
old fool like me. Once upon a time, perhaps, I may have considered
myself a connoisseur--well, you know, Macleod, I once had a waist like
the rest of you; but now, bless you, if a tolerably pretty girl only
says a civil word or two to me, I begin to regard her as if I were her
guardian angel--_in loco parentis_, and that kind of thing--and I would
sooner hang myself than scan her dress or say a word about her figure.
Do you think she will be afraid of a critic with one eye? Have courage,
man. I dare bet a sovereign she is quite capable of taking care of
herself. It's her business."

Macleod flushed quickly, and the one eye of the major caught that
sudden confession of shame or resentment.

"What I meant was," he said, instantly, "that nature had taught the
simplest of virgins a certain trick of fence--oh yes, don't you be
afraid. Embarrassment! If there is any one embarrassed, it will not be
me, and it will not be she. Why, she'll begin to wonder whether you are
really one of the Macleods, if you show yourself nervous, apprehensive,
frightened like this."

"And indeed, Stuart," said he, rising as if to shake off some weight of
gloomy feeling, "I scarcely know what is the matter with me. I ought to
be the happiest man in the world; and sometimes this very happiness
seems so great that it is like to suffocate me--I cannot breathe fast
enough; and then, again, I get into such unreasoning fears and
troubles--Well, let us get out into the fresh air."

The major carefully smoothed his hat once more, and took up his cane. He
followed Macleod down stairs--like Sancho Panza waiting on Don Quixote,
as he himself expressed it; and then the two friends slowly sauntered
away northward on this fairly clear and pleasant December morning.

"Your nerves are not in a healthy state, that's the f