to solve, and turned next to the singular state of mind into which young
Henry Wallingford had fallen.

"Well," said my wife, speaking with some emphasis, after I had told her
of the case, "I never imagined that he cared so much for the girl!"

"What girl?" I inquired.

"Why, Delia Floyd--the silly fool! if I must speak so strongly."

"Then he is really in love with Squire Floyd's daughter?"

"It looks like it, if he's taking on as his mother says," answered my
wife, with considerable feeling. "And Delia will rue the day she turned
from as true a man as Henry Wallingford."

"Bless me, Constance! you've got deeper into this matter, than either
his mother or me. Who has been initiating you into the love secrets of
S----?"

"This affair," returned my wife, "has not passed into town talk, and
will, I trust, be kept sacred by those who know the facts. I learned
them from Mrs. Dean, the sister of Mrs. Floyd. The case stands thus:
Henry is peculiar, shy, reserved, and rather silent. He goes but little
into company, and has not the taking way with girls that renders
some young men so popular. But his qualities are all of the sterling
kind--such as wear well, and grow brighter with usage. For more than a
year past, he has shown a decided preference for Delia Floyd, and she
has encouraged his attentions. Indeed, so far as I can learn from Mrs.
Dean, the heart of her niece was deeply interested. But a lover of
higher pretensions came, dazzling her mind with a more brilliant
future."

"Who?" I inquired.

"That dashing young fellow from New York, Judge Bigelow's nephew."

"Not Ralph Dewey?"

"Yes."

"Foolish girl, to throw away a man for such an effigy! It will be a
dark day that sees her wedded to him. But I will not believe in the
possibility of such an event."

"Well, to go on with my story," resumed Constance. "Last evening,
seeing, I suppose, that a dangerous rival was intruding, Henry made suit
for the hand of Delia, and was rejected."

"I understand the case better now," said I, speaking from a professional
point of view.

"Poor young man! I did not suppose it was in him to love any woman after
that fashion," remarked Constance.

"Your men of reserved exterior have often great depths of feeling," I
remarked. "Usually women are not drawn towards them; because they are
attracted most readily by what meets the eye. If they would look deeper,
they would commit fewer mistakes, like that which Delia Floyd has j