ur between two young girls and an
unfortunate masculine friend happens to be an observer, are so likely to
destroy his equanimity for a long period. Emily's cheek reddened a
little, to be sure, with shame at remembering where she had last met her
visitor; but perhaps this evidence of sensibility broke down all
barriers between the two, much easier than they could have been removed
under other circumstances. Josephine Harris had accidentally become
aware of the one secret of Emily's life, and so long as warm friendship
existed this fact could not be otherwise than a tie, just as it could
not fail to be a cause for avoidance if the two hearts once became
separated. Aunt Martha, something of an oddity among women, and Joe
Harris, an oddity without any qualification, were pleased with each
other at once; and a pleasant chat sprung up in the little room, which
lasted until Aunt Martha thought it proper to make an excuse for absence
and leave the young girls alone together.

It would have been something more or less than natural, if within a
minute afterwards the conversation of the two had not been running upon
the topic of which both had been thinking, but of which neither would
speak before the third person. Josephine broke into the theme at once:

"Who was he?"

"Who was _who_?" and the face of pretty Emily Owen was red enough in a
moment to show that she knew who was intended.

"Oh, you know that I saw part of it," said Joe. "I want to know the
rest. Who was the young man from whom your father took you away? A
lover, of course, or he would not have taken the trouble."

"It was--it was--Frank--Mr. Frank Wallace," said the young girl, the
color on her face by no means diminishing.

"Oh, don't blush so," said Josey. "We all get into some such scrape, at
one time or another--that is, so many of us as can find any one to form
the other half of the pair of scissors. He was your lover, of course?"

"You are a strange girl, and you ask such odd questions!" said Emily.
Then, looking into the face of Josephine, and seeing how true and
earnest, in spite of their mischief, were the eyes bent upon her, she
added: "But I _do_ remember how good and kind you were to me at school,
and I _will_ tell you all about it!"

"That's a dear!" said diplomatic Josey, and only casting down her eyes a
little and blushing occasionally, Emily Owen told the story of her love
and her persecutions--of her father's pride and prejudice--of Aunt
Ma