“But we are not afraid of those dreadful things, are we Jeanette?”

“Of course not, but somehow Belle always makes me feel uncomfortable, when she begins to talk on temperance.  She says she is terribly in earnest, and I think she is.”

“Miss Gordon and I were great friends once,” said Charles Romaine, as a shadow flitted over his face, and a slight sigh escaped his lips.

“Were you?  Why didn’t you remain so?”

“Because she was too good for me.”

“That is a very sorry reason.”

“But it is true.  I think Miss Gordon is an excellent young lady, but she and I wouldn’t agree on the temperance question.  The man who marries her has got to toe the mark.  She ought to be a minister’s wife.”

“I expect she will be an old maid.”

“I don’t know, but if I were to marry her, I should prepare myself to go to Church every Sunday morning and to stay home in the afternoon and repeat my catechism.”

“I would like to see you under her discipline.”

“It would come hard on a fellow, but I might go farther and fare worse.”

“And so you and Belle were great friends, once?”

“Yes, but as we could not agree on the total abstinence question, we parted company.”

“How so?  Did you part as lovers part?”

  She with a wronged and broken heart? 
  And you, rejoicing you were free,
  Glad to regain you liberty?

“Not at all.  She gave me the mitten and I had to take it.”

“Were you very sorry?”

“Yes, till I met you.”

“Oh!  Mr. Romaine,” said Jeanette blushing and dropping her eyes.

“Why not?  I think I have found in your society an ample compensation for the loss of Miss Gordon.”

“But I think Belle is better than I am.  I sometimes wish I was half so good.”

“You are good enough for me; Belle is very good, but somehow her goodness makes a fellow uncomfortable.  She is what I call distressingly good; one doesn’t want to be treated like a wild beast in a menagerie, and to be every now and then stirred up with a long stick.”

“What a comparison!”

“Well it is a fact; when a fellow’s been busy all day pouring over Coke and Blackstone, or casting up wearisome rows of figures, and seeks a young lady’s society in the evening, he wants to enjoy himself, to bathe in the sunshine of her smiles, and not to be lectured about his shortcomings.  I tell you, Jeanette, it comes hard on a fellow.”

“You want some one to smooth the wrinkles out of the brow of care, and not to add fresh ones.”

“Yes, and I hope it will be my fortune to have a fair soft hand like his,” said Mr. Romaine, slightly pressing Jeanette’s hand to perform the welcome and agreeable task.

“Belle’s hand would be firmer than mine for the talk.”

“It is not the strong hand, but the tender hand I want in a woman.”