She had left her phaeton at a livery stable, and was on her way to the Bannister house to have a talk with Dora on a subject in which they were now both so much interested.  She had been very much surprised when the girl had come to her and freely avowed her feelings and hopes, but she had been delighted.  She liked a spirit of that sort, and it was a joy to her to work with one who possessed it.  But she knew human nature, and she was very much afraid that Dora’s purpose might weaken.  It was quite natural that a young person, in a moment of excitement and pique, should figuratively raise her sword in air and vow a vow; but it was also quite natural, when the excitement and pique had cooled down, that the young person should experience what might be called a “vow-fright,” and feel unable to go through with her part.  In a case such as Dora’s, this was very possible indeed, and all that Miss Panney had planned to say on her present visit was intended to inspire the girl, if it should be needed, with some of her own matured inflexibility and fixedness of purpose.  But if the man were doing this sort of thing already and Dora should know it, she would have a right to be discouraged.

Before the old lady reached the Bannisters’ gate, she saw Mr. Haverley, in his gig, drive away.  This brightened her up a little.

“He comes here, anyway,” she thought; “what a pity Dora is not in.”

Nevertheless, she went on to the Bannister house; and when she found Dora was in, she began to scold her.

“This will never do, will never do,” she said.  “Get angry with him if you choose, but don’t show it.  If you do that, you may crash him too low or bounce him too high, and, in either case, he may be off before you know it.  It is too early in the game to show him that he has made you angry.”

“But if he doesn’t want me, I don’t want him,” said Dora, sulkily.

“If you think that way, my dear,” said Miss Panney, “you may as well make up your mind to make a bad match, or die an old maid.  The right man very seldom comes of his own accord; it is nearly always the wrong one.  If you happen to meet the right man, you should help him to know that he ought to come.  That is the way to look at it.  That young Haverley does not know yet who it is that he cares for.  He is just floating along, waiting for some one to thrust out a boat-hook and pull him in.”

“I shall marry no floating log,” said Dora, stiffly.

The old lady laughed.

“Perhaps that was not a very good figure of speech,” she said; “but really, my dear, you must not interfere with your own happiness by showing temper; and if you look at the affair in its proper light, you will see it is not so bad, after all.  Ten to one, he brought her to town because she wanted to come with him,—­probably on some patched-up errand; but he came here because he wanted to come.  There could be no other reason; and, instead of being angry with him, you should have