o come back to the window, the
edge of a curtain was lifted, and a white hand stole out and softly
closed the shutters.

In the evening Sylvia went in to a concert of the school, which was
to be held at the Court-house, a chorus of girls being impaneled
in the jury-box, and the principal, who wears a little wig, taking
her seat on the woolsack. I promised to have the very pick of the
garden ready, and told Sylvia to come to the arbor the last thing
before starting. She wore big blue rosettes in her hair, and at
that twilight hour looked as lovely, soft, and pure as moonshine;
so that I lost control of myself and kissed her twice--once for
Georgiana and once for myself. Surely it must have been Sylvia's
first experience. I hope so. Yet she passed through it with the
composure of a graduate of several year's standing. But, then,
women inherit a great stock of fortitude from their mothers in
this regard, and perpetually add to it by their own dispositions.
Ought I to warn Georgiana--good heavens! in a general way, of
course--that Sylvia should be kept away from sugar, and well under
the influence of vulgar fractions?

It made me feel uncomfortable to see her go tripping out of her
front gate on the arm of a youth. Can it be possible the _he_ would
try to do what _I_ did? Men differ so in their virtues, and are
so alike in their transgressions. This forward gosling displayed
white duck pantaloons, brandished pumps on his feet, which looked
flat enough to have been webbed, and was scented as to his marital
locks with a far-reaching pestilence of bergamot and cinnamon.

After they were gone I strolled back to my arbor and sat down amid
the ruins of Sylvia's flowers. The nigh was mystically beautiful.
The moon seemed to me to be softly stealing down the sky to kiss
Endymion. I looked across towards Georgiana's window. She was
there, and I slipped over and stood under it.

"Georgiana," I whispered, "were you, too, looking at the moon?"

"Part of the time," she said, sourly. "Isn't it permitted?"

"Sylvia left her scissors in the arbor, and _I_ can't find them."

"_She'll_ find them to-morrow."

"If they get wet, you know, they'll rust."

"I keep something to take rust off."

"Georgiana, I've got something to tell you about Sylvia."

"What? That you kissed her?"

"N--o! Not _that_, exactly!"

"Good-night!"

May 21st. Again I asked Georgiana to be mine. I am a perfect fool
about her. But she