anely eager,
another stupidly backward. 'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread!'
Poor boy! he'd give as much to-morrow to unsay his words as I would to
have spoken those I nearly said last night!"

The chill gray dawn outside was wrestling at the windows for entrance
with the sickly glaring gas-light within. Morris drew aside the heavy
curtains and pressed his forehead against the frost-laced pane. Long
he looked out into the gray haze with eyes that saw nothing beyond his
own thoughts. Then he turned to the fire again. The gray ash was
hiding the glow of the spent coals. Then he took up the glass once
more and looked earnestly at the contrasted flowers it held. He
replaced it almost tenderly, and walked slowly to his own room.

"Yes, I know _myself_," he said; "I think I know _her_. I'll hesitate
no longer; some fool may 'rush in.' To-morrow shall settle it. The
tough old Scotchman was right:

'He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
That dares not put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all!'"

VII.

That same afternoon, at two o'clock, Mr. Vanderbilt Morris's stylish
dog-cart, drawn by his high-spirited bays, drew up at Miss Rose Wood's
domicile. Holding the reins sat Mr. Andrew Browne, beaming as though
_Chambertin_ had never been pressed from the grape; seemingly as fresh
as though headache had never slipped with the rest out of Pandora's
box.

But it may have been only seemingly; for, faultlessly attired from
scarf-pin to glove tips, Andy was still a trifle more uneasy than the
dancing of his restless team might warrant in so noted a whip as he. A
queer expression swept over his handsome face from time to time; and,
as he came to a halt, he glanced furtively over his shoulder, as
though fearing something in pursuit.

"Ask Miss Rose if she will drive with me," he said hurriedly to the
servant. "Say I can't get down to come in; the horses are too fresh."

Then the off-horse danced a polka in space, responsive to deft
tickling with the whip.

Miss Wood did not stand upon ceremony, nor upon the order of her
going, but went at once to get her wraps.

"Better late than never," she said to herself, as she dived into a
drawer and upset her mouchoir case in search for a particular
handkerchief. "I really couldn't comprehend his absence and silence
all day--but, poor boy! he's _so_ young!" And then Miss Rose, as