if she were an
acquaintance of his.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Frank with great gravity, "she is my wife's
cousin."

In an instant Mrs. Carrington's coquetry vanished, and rising upon her
dignity, she soon gave the gentlemen directions where to find the May
party. As they were proceeding thither, Mr. Middleton said, "Why, Cameron,
I understood you to say on the boat that you were not married."

"Neither am I," answered Frank. "I merely wished to get a dissolving view
of that lady's maneuvers. Besides, I was actually afraid of being
annihilated by her eyes and smiles. I'll manage to let her know that you
are marketable, and then she'll turn her artillery toward you."

"But was it quite right," said Mr. Middleton, "to give her a wrong
impression?"

"No, I suppose not," answered Frank. "But if I ever marry, Kate will be my
wife's cousin."

By this time they had reached the entrance of the grove and caught sight
of the fair queen. "The fates protect me!" said Frank, suddenly stopping
and planting himself against a tree. "It would be suicide to advance
another step. And she is your niece, you say. Pray intercede for me, or in
less than a month I shall be making faces through the iron grating of some
madhouse."

Mr. Middleton did not reply. His eyes were riveted on Fanny, whose face
and figure recalled to his remembrance his only sister, who was the
playmate of his childish years. Many long years had rolled away since that
bright summer morning, when with a sad heart he bade adieu to that sister,
who, a young happy bride, was leaving her native land for a home on a
foreign shore. Weeks passed, and there came intelligence that the
ill-fated vessel in which she embarked was a total wreck. Among the lost
were his sister and her husband, who now slept quietly beneath the billowy
surf of the Atlantic.

Fanny so strongly resembled her Aunt that it was not strange Mr. Middleton
for an instant fancied he again looked on the features of his long-lost
sister. But the illusion soon vanished, and when Kate bounded forward and
saluted her cousin, his eye was wandering over the group of young girls in
quest of his other niece. He, however, looked in vain. Julia was not
there. When urged to attend the party, she had tossed her head in scorn
saying that she unfortunately had no taste for child's play. She preferred
remaining at home, where she could spend her time more profitably. Oh,
Julia, Julia! It is a pity you did not assign your