she used to be; and then, you know, after
leaving her, I went to see the widow."

"You didn't tell her where you were going, of course?"

"So," said Jack, with a sigh. "Well, you see, I went to the widow, and
I found that she had heard about my calling on Miss Phillips, and
driving out with her for a couple of hours, and I don't know what else.
She was calm, and quiet, and cool, and simply wanted to know what it
all meant. Well, do you know that sort of coolness is the very thing
that I can't stand. If she'd raved at me, or scolded, or been
passionate, or gone on in any kind of a way, I could have dealt with
her; but with a person like that, who is so calm, and cool, and quiet,
I haven't the faintest idea how to act.

"I mumbled something or other about 'old friendship'--'stranger in a
strange land'--horrid rot--what an ass she must have thought me!--but
that's the way it was. She didn't say any thing. She began to talk
about something else in a conventional way--the weather, I think. I
couldn't do any thing. I made a vague attempt at friendly remonstrance
with her about her coolness; but she didn't notice it. She went on
talking about the weather. She was convinced that it would snow. I, for
my part, was convinced that there was going to be a storm--a hurricane
--a tornado--any thing. But she only smiled at my vehemence, and
finally I left, with a general idea that there was thunder in the air.

"Well, you know, I then went off to see Louie. But I didn't get any
satisfaction there. The other girls were present, and the aunt. There
wasn't any whist, and so I had to do the agreeable to the whole party.
I waited until late, in the hope that some chance might turn up of a
private chat with Louie, but none came. So at last I came home, feeling
a general disgust with the world and the things of the world."

"Rather hard, that," said I, as Jack relapsed into moody silence.

"Hard?" said he; "that was yesterday, but it was nothing to what I met
with to-day."

"To-day?--why, what's up worse than that?"

"Every thing. But I'll go on and make a clean breast of it. Only don't
laugh at me, Macrorie, or I'll cut."

"Laugh? Do I ever laugh?"

Jack took a few more puffs, and relieved his sorrow-laden breast by
several preliminary and preparatory sighs, after which he proceeded:

"To-day," he began, "I got up late. I felt heavy. I anticipated a
general row. I dressed. I breakfasted, and, just as I was finishing,
the row b