h a camellia in the button-hole; and his
splendid ring, a ruby, flashing on his little finger as he courteously
signed to me to take a chair.

"Dear Mrs. Woodville, how very kind of you this is! I have been longing
to have the happiness of knowing you. Eustace is an old friend of
mine. I congratulated him when I heard of his marriage. May I make a
confession?--I envy him now I have seen his wife."

The future of my life was perhaps in this man's hands. I studied him
attentively: I tried to read his character in his face.

The Major's sparkling little gray eyes softened as they looked at me;
the Major's strong and sturdy voice dropped to its lowest and tenderest
tones when he spoke to me; the Major's manner expressed, from the moment
when I entered the room, a happy mixture of admiration and respect. He
drew his chair close to mine, as if it were a privilege to be near me.
He took my hand and lifted my glove to his lips, as if that glove
were the most delicious luxury the world could produce. "Dear Mrs.
Woodville," he said, as he softly laid my hand back on my lap, "bear
with an old fellow who worships your enchanting sex. You really brighten
this dull house. It is _such_ a pleasure to see you!"

There was no need for the old gentleman to make his little confession.
Women, children, and dogs proverbially know by instinct who the people
are who really like them. The women had a warm friend--perhaps at one
time a dangerously warm friend--in Major Fitz-David. I knew as much of
him as that before I had settled myself in my chair and opened my lips
to answer him.

"Thank you, Major, for your kind reception and your pretty compliment,"
I said, matching my host's easy tone as closely as the necessary
restraints on my side would permit. "You have made your confession. May
I make mine?"

Major Fitz-David lifted my hand again from my lap and drew his chair as
close as possible to mine. I looked at him gravely and tried to release
my hand. Major Fitz-David declined to let go of it, and proceeded to
tell me why.

"I have just heard you speak for the first time," he said. "I am under
the charm of your voice. Dear Mrs. Woodville, bear with an old fellow
who is under the charm! Don't grudge me my innocent little pleasures.
Lend me--I wish I could say _give_ me--this pretty hand. I am such an
admirer of pretty hands! I can listen so much better with a pretty hand
in mine. The ladies indulge my weakness. Please indulge me too. Ye