his Rand--told me he had a twin-brother, he looked so
frightened that I knew he knew nothing of his brother's doings with that
woman, and I threw him off the scent. He's a good fellow, but awfully
green, and I didn't want to worry him with tales. I like him, and I
think Phemie does too."

"Nonsense! He's a conceited prig! Did you hear his sermon on the world
and its temptations? I wonder if he thought temptation had come up to
him in the person of us professionals out on a picnic. I think it was
positively rude."

"My dear woman, you're always seeing slights and insults. I tell you
he's taken a shine to Phemie; and he's as good as four seats and a
bouquet to that child next Wednesday evening, to say nothing of the
eclat of getting this St. Simeon--what do you call him?--Stalactites?"

"Stylites," suggested Mrs. Sol.

"Stylites, off from his pillar here. I'll have a paragraph in the paper,
that the hermit crabs of Table Mountain--"

"Don't be a fool, Sol!"

"The hermit twins of Table Mountain bespoke the chaste performance."

"One of them being the protector of the well-known Mornie
Nixon," responded Mrs. Sol, viciously accenting the name with her
knitting-needles.

"Rosy, you're unjust. You're prejudiced by the reports of the town.
Mr. Pinkney's interest in her may be a purely artistic one, although
mistaken. She'll never make a good variety-actress: she's too heavy.
And the boys don't give her a fair show. No woman can make a debut in my
version of 'Somnambula,' and have the front row in the pit say to her in
the sleepwalking scene, 'You're out rather late, Mornie. Kinder forgot
to put on your things, didn't you? Mother sick, I suppose, and you're
goin' for more gin? Hurry along, or you'll ketch it when ye get home.'
Why, you couldn't do it yourself, Rosy!"

To which Mrs. Sol's illogical climax was, that, "bad as Rutherford might
be, this Sunday-school superintendent, Rand, was worse."

Rand and his companion returned late, but in high spirits. There was
an unnecessary effusiveness in the way in which Euphemia kissed
Mrs. Sol,--the one woman present, who UNDERSTOOD, and was to be
propitiated,--which did not tend to increase Mrs. Sol's good humor.
She had her basket packed all ready for departure; and even the earnest
solicitation of Rand, that they would defer their going until sunset,
produced no effect.

"Mr. Rand--Mr. Pinkney, I mean--says the sunsets here are so lovely,"
pleaded Euphemia.

"There is